


Wilting Flowers

by xXxBishopxXx



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2, video game - Fandom
Genre: AU, Arthur is an adoable puppy, Arthur is sick, Arthur was never in the Van der linde gang, Arthur/John, Bottom Arthur, Dutch loses his way but finds it again, F/F, F/M, Hosea and Dutch are old friends, John can be jealous, John is an idiot but we love him anyway, M/M, Miach works for Cornwall, Multi, Murfree Brood, Neither was Hosea, Oblivious Arthur, Or Lenny and Sean, Other, Our boys are gonna be fine, Outlaw John, Past Relationships, Rancher Arthur, Same time line, Spoilers, Top John, Trial medicine, a bit of everyone - Freeform, new relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxBishopxXx/pseuds/xXxBishopxXx
Summary: Outlaw John Marston ends up being saved by a sick rancher named Arthur Morgan. He recovers at Hosea Matthews ranch. Offered a job, and working with the Van Der Linde gang who want to rob the place, John must get close before the gang does their final score.Yet things aren't so easy when he gets a little too close to Hosea's adoptive son, Arthur, who is suffering from an illness that has to have daily treatment of a trial medication for him to survive. Neither man knows how to cope with their feelings and things get complicated when Miach Bell, a worker of Mr Cornwall, wants the Matthews ranch for his boss. How low will he sink to get the land?Without proper care, flowers begin to wilt away...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I have not written anything for what seems like forever. Trust me, it'll be apparent in this story. Anyway, I have played Red Dead Redemption twice now and twice I've wanted to change things. So, with the great gift of imagination and the beautiful thing called fanfiction - I decided that the boys and girls of the West deserve better. 
> 
> Thus, the plot bunnies have been jumping up and down with this idea until I finally had to write it. I'm terrible at seeing my own mistakes and, again, I have not written a single thing in a very, VERY long time. Yet here we are. So I apologise now for the mistakes, but I hope you enjoy and let me know if you want more. Obviously there will be slight spoilers ahead, not many, but they're there. *Cough,* EVERYONE LIVES. *Cough*

John Marston rode alongside a riverbank on top of a light brown horse, it snorted as he challenged the beast to go faster, practically pushing the creature to its limits as it continued to gallop as hard as it could.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to be concerned over the welfare of his horse as a frown married his freshly scarred features that darkened with each passing thought that swept throughout his clouded mind.

The water was rushing beside them, rapids and deadly speeds pushing only god-knows-what further down from where John had just come from. The rage of the unforgiving waterworks was identical to the one burning through John.

‘Damn Dutch!’ John yelled in his own mind. Thinking back to what had made him escape from the small camp of outlaws resting by a place he couldn’t quite remember…Horseshoe overlook, maybe?

They had escaped death, he himself escaping it twice, once with the rest of the group from Blackwater, their once home, when everything went completely and utterly sour after they tried to rob a Ferry of its riches. John had been shot. And a lot of the others within their gang of merry thieves had been killed or…hell, he didn’t know. Though death may have been a better option than anything else if some of them had been captured by the Pinkerton bastards.

The second time he had cheated death was on a snowy white mountain where he had almost been eaten by wolves while scouting ahead for a place where his “family” could rest and recover from the day’s events. Instead, he had ended up being chased by wolves, falling off his beloved horse and having a wolf try to eat him alive while the others in the pack feasted on the body of his horse.

Somehow, he had managed to survive the attack and now had healing wounds on his face that had been given to him by one of the meat-eating animals.  
He blamed Dutch for the whole thing. One more job, the elder man had said, one more robbery and they could leave Blackwater for good and find a place to call their own as a family.

Yeah. It didn’t turn out like they expected at all.

Now all they had was each other. A little food and some water. Yet no money. No savings. No nothing. All because Dutch had to have that one last job. John had told him not to do it. That they could at least try and make a decent living somewhere else.

Unfortunately, even though they had survived the mountain, it did nothing for John’s temper and finally it had exploded all at once and all at Dutch. It was so bad that even Abigail, the mother of his child, Jack, had ushered the young boy to retire early for the vast approaching evening.

It hadn’t taken long for one of the Van Der Linde gang members to grab John and push him towards his horse.

“Go blow off some steam, Marston!” Bill Williamson had yelled at him while Miss O’shea and Mrs Grimshaw tried to steady Dutch’s own anger that had reached its boiling point at John’s outburst of cursed words and opinions.

Shaking his head as the winds brushed against his wounded flesh, he willed the horse to go even quicker, if that was possible, but suddenly a bear appeared from the treeline and the horse bucked harshly – throwing John off and into the deep rapids of water.

Cursing loudly, he spit out water that had gathered in his mouth, raising his arms as he struggled against the harsh liquid that was taking him further away from land. The horse had all but abandoned him, and the bear that had spooked it merely strolled away without a care in the world.

John regretted going alongside the river now – he had never learnt how to swim, and even if he had, he doubted an expert swimmer would survive the deadly rapids. At least if he had fallen off his horse in front of the bear - he could have shot at it.

He kicked and pushed his arms and head out of the water, trying his hardest to keep afloat, but it was no good.

It didn’t take long before John felt his lungs burning and throat tightening as he continued to fall under the water and be carried downstream.

He managed to gain one last intake of air before finally falling under.

In that moment he thought of his son who would grow up without a father just like he himself had. Abigail, his former sweetheart after a drunken night together had them with child, alone without anyone to protect her – though heavens knows she could look out for herself. But raising a child on her own? John hadn’t been the best of fathers, he knew, but he didn’t want to leave them alone. Not again. Not like last time.

John continued to fight. Kicking, pulling, and generally anything that would help him survive to see him family another day.

Slamming into a rock, the last of his breath escaped his mouth and the everything began to turn black. Darkness crept through his vision and blood from a head wound due to the rock filled the speeding current.

Something latched onto him. Like a rope. It landed around his one arm and chest, his other arm limp from the lack of oxygen to his brain.

He felt it tug sharply and he was pulled through the water.

John wasn’t sure when he had hit land. All he knew was that he was coughing and hacking up droplets of the river.

Turning onto his back, taking in as much air as he could, John tried to ignore the ringing in his ears and the blurred vision.

Tilting his head slightly, he saw someone kneeling next to him. This stranger appeared to wear dark clothing and a black bandanna around the bottom half of his face. Long, dirty blonde hair moved slightly in the hollowing winds.

Their eyes met.

And John found himself staring into the green orbs before finally passing out.

____________

John wasn’t sure where he was or how he got there…wherever there was. All he knew was that a cloth was against his forehead.

A sound startled him slightly. It was a cough.

With shaky sight, John turned a little to see someone. It didn’t take him long to realise it was the man who had pulled him from the river.

Whoever he was, he didn’t appear to have noticed that John had disturbed. Instead, the dark blonde continued to put pencil to paper as he sketched something within a leather-bound book.

The black scarf that had covered his lower face was gone. Revealing light stubble and chapped lips that were partly parted to allow him to breath easier as he kept coughing and heaving out air every now and then.

“…Mis…t…er…” John wanted to curse at how badly he sounded and how croaky his voice had come out, but the man finally looked up from his journal of some sort and eyed John.

He didn’t say anything, but he grabbed a small cup and pressed it against John’s lips, thinking it was water he gladly drunk what he could before wanting to cough it all back up.

“Ta..ste…sh…it…”

This earned a small chuckle from the stranger. “Medicine ain’t suppose’ta taste good, boy.”

John wanted to scoff and say, “No kidding,” but darkness overwhelmed him again. 

___________

“What were ya’ thinkin’, Morgan?!”

“Shut up, Macguire.”

John slowly stirred awake to hearing voices around him.

“Well, don’t blame me when we run outta food this winter, eh?”

Opening his eyes, John squinted at the light of day streaming through the close by window. It took him awhile before he finally got his barring’s and realised - he was on a bed and in a room.

He was definitely not at camp. They didn’t have the luxury of having a bed let alone a room for it to go in.

Glancing around, he spied a bowl of bloody water with a dirty cloth in. Next to it was a glass of water.

Reaching out, John necked it in one, thankful for the fresh water to clear his throat.

“Why don’t you go annoy someone else, Macguire? I’m sure Lenny will love to hear your opinion about this.”

Sitting up with a hiss of pain at his aching head, John continued to listen to the conversation that was happening outside the room he had been placed in.

A snort came from the fellow…who had disturbed his slumber. All John knew was that he had an Irish accent while the other had a deep western one. It wasn’t as hoarse as John’s, but the scarred man doubted anyone’s could be as croaky as his own. Well, Dutch came close when he was yelling at the Van Der Linde gang.

The Irish man…Macguire? Sighed heavily. “I’m just sayin’ is all. We barely got enough to fill our bellies let alone~”

“I know, Sean, I know.” A hacking cough suddenly came and then John heard a thud.

“Christ on a bike!”

“I’m…I’m fine~”

“Sure ya are, Morgan. And I’m bloody royalty.” This Sean snarled out.

John wasn’t sure what happened next, but he could only assume that they had moved on as the footsteps seemed to fade as he too faded back to sleep. 

_________

The sound of sketching woke John up next. He forced his eyes open, ignoring the pain in the back of his head as he once again found himself staring at the man from before. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was the man was drawing.

John took in his features some more. His eyes were pools of green that were stunning to see even in the light of a flickering candle that was by the bedside table where the man was sitting. His hair hung slightly over his face as he focused on the creation in his journal.

John found himself just watching the man who had caught his attention as he drifted in and out of consciousness now and then.

“Arthur?!”

John snapped his eyes shut as a woman’s yell called out.

“Yes, Mrs Downes?” The man…Arthur…replied.

“Dinners ready – thought you could do with something.”

“’M not hungry, Mrs Downes.”

A loud huff was heard, and John peeked an eye open to see Arthur roll his eyes before closing his book as there was a knock on the door.

A dark-haired woman came through with or without permission and placed two dishes of soup on a nearby table before pointing a finger at Arthur. “You are a silly fool if you don’t eat anything. That’ll be the second night in a row.”

The woman. Mrs Downes. Didn’t move an inch. Instead she picked up one of the bowls and held out a spoon. “Don’t make me force this down you Mr Morgan. You know I will.”

Arthur seemed to think about this for a moment before giving in and grabbing the food; taking a spoonful or two – he whizzed and tried to silence a cough that threatened to break out into a choke.

“See woman?” Arthur heaved. “Your cooking’s killing me.”

A swift whack on the back told John that the man had made a poor joke.

John remembered waking up and passing out a few more times. Sometimes Arthur was there, writing or drawing and would give him some more of that nasty tasting stuff. Other times there was a man reading a book or Mrs Downes feeding him some of the soup which wasn’t half bad.

He never found the energy to speak, and instead focused on resting as much as possible. He didn’t know how, but he knew he was safe here – hell, if they had wanted him dead or for the ransom on his head then they would have taken him in by now…  
______________________

It wasn’t long before John finally woke up again and felt more stronger than he had ever been. No one was there with him, and it took a bit of effort, but he finally sat up before kicking his legs over the edge of the bed.

John stood on shaky legs and noticed he was wearing new clothes that weren’t his own – they fit a little loosely but were otherwise comfortable. Though the idea of someone seeing him in a compromising position wasn’t a nice thought.

With a hiss of pain from his head, John’s fingertips brushed against a wrapped bandage that covered his injury that was made in the water. He remembered being bucked off that stupid horse because of that Bear – and then drowning. Well. Almost drowning.

Green eyes filled his thoughts and he frowned. Whoever that was must have been his savour. What was the man’s name again… Arthur Morgan?

Shaking his head, John realised that had been a mistake to do and had to still himself through a round of dizziness before making an attempt at anything.

“Where the hell am I?” John wondered through the partly opened doorway and ended up in some sort of hallway that had four other rooms and a fine wooded staircase leading down into more of the unknown.

Making his way down the steps, John found himself in a large living room to his right. It had inviting sofas and other fancy things that were scattered around – including a bookcase filled with, well, books.

“Ah. I see you’re awake.”

John snapped around in surprise at the newcomer’s voice.

An older man strolled into the grand living room. A closed book in hand. He had white hair and wise eyes with a friendly small upon his face.

“It was touch and go there for a while. We thought you wouldn’t make it through the first few days.”

“First few days?”

The man chuckled as he sat down – gesturing for John to do the same and he took the kindly offered seat.

“One of my boys found you by a river. He had to lasso you to shore. You had quite the bump on your head and those scars,” the elder gazed at the wounds John had received from the Mountain. “Had gotten infected. Luckily, we had a doctor come in and give you medicine for it.”

“I owe you my life, sir.” John nodded in thanks.

“Hosea Matthews.” The gentlemen introduced himself.

“John Marston,” leaning over a glazed coffee table they shook hands.

“And it’s Arthur you should be thanking, but…” Hosea looked off to the side. “Well, anything you want to know?” The sudden subject change didn’t go unnoticed by John but he decided not to bring it up.

He made a mental note to figure out who this Arthur was and thank him for saving his life.

“Sir, um… Mr Matthews, I was wondering how long I’ve been here?” ‘Wherever ‘here’ is,’ John thought.

“Almost two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!” John shot up.

Hosea merely looked amused at his outburst. “Yes.” The amused smile faded as quickly as it came. “The doctors haven’t had enough medicine for everyone, so your recovery took longer. I apologise about this, I know waking up in a strange home with strangers in is not at all ideal.”

“No, sir,” John shook his head. He didn’t mean to come across as ungrateful. “Don’t apologise. You and your family saved my life and payed for my recovery – I owe you. It was just a bit of a shock, is all. I’m usually a quick healer.” After cheating death three times now he had the right to call himself that.

“It’s fine.” Hosea also stood up and looked outside his large window that over looked fields. “This is the Matthew’s Ranch. You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you please here while you recover, if you like?”

“I appreciate the offer, you’ve been very kind to me, but I have a family to return to.”

“Of course. I’m heading into a nearby town called Valentine. You can come with me and find your way home there?”

“That would be mighty helpful sir, thank you.”

“No problem. Let’s get some coffee in you first.” Hosea walked away, and John found himself following the elder – entering a kitchen area. It had to be the biggest he had ever seen.

“Good morning, Edith!” Hosea greeted to a middle age-looking woman who was brewing coffee on the stove. It John realised it was Mrs Downes.

“Good morning, Hosea.” She turned and spotted John. “And you must be the man Arthur saved from drowning. Nice to see you up and about.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I owe my life to this Arthur fellow. I’d like it if I could say my thanks before leaving, if that’s okay?"

Edith’s eyes snapped to Hosea’s. John watched as a sadness filled the man’s eyes.

“I don’t think he’ll be up to it right now, Mr Marston, but I’ll be sure to pass on the thanks for you.”

John took the cup of freshly brewed coffee that was offered to him. He took a sip. Thankful for coffee beans.

It didn’t take them long to move out of the kitchen and outside.

John was amazed at the land Hosea owned. It was beautiful. And even more so, a wagon awaited them with two fine bred horses at the front ready to pull them.

A shoulder length ginger haired male jumped down from the wagon with a cocky grin on his face.

“Is everything ready, Mr Macguire?” Matthews asked as he climbed into the driver seat.

“Of course!” That Irish accent from before filled John’s ears. “Been waitin’ for you, and I guess ol’ scar face ‘ere.”

“Sean.” Hosea scolded.

Sean, the Irish man, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not like the bloke has a name tag on.”

“John Marston.” Was all John said to the younger, annoying kid.

“This is Sean Macguire,” Hosea pointed to ginger as John climbed up to take a seat neck to him. “Don’t mind him. He doesn’t take well to strangers.”

Sean faked a gasp. “Ya wound me with your words, boss man.”

“Go help Lenny with the fields, would you?”

Before Sean could reply, Hosea forced the horses into action and they were well and truly on their way.

As the horses galloped along, John couldn’t help but hold his head at every bump in the road seemed to affect him.

“You might need another dose of medicine.” Hosea watched him with concern.

“Yeah. Well, if there’s enough. I’ll manage.” John recalled Hosea’s earlier words of the lack of supply.

“Here’s hoping,” the elder grumbled. “The stock should have arrived today. Been almost a week and half without it. If not, then it’s another wasted trip for us.”

Wasted trip? John questioned silently. Instead of asking he let his mind wonder to how his family were doing. He prayed they hadn’t left the Horseshoe overlook already…

“We’re here, son.”

John felt a nudge to wake him from his quick slumber.

“Um, thanks.”

Both him and Hosea jumped down from the seat of the wagon.

“I suppose this is where we split ways.”

John nodded. Shaking the man’s hand again, he turned to find his own way around this town called Valentine.

“Oh, and John?”

Marston looked around as the man spoke his name. “Yes, sir?”

“If you ever want to make some money for your family – my ranch needs another hand. Doors always open for willing workers.”

John was partly shocked. No one had ever offered him a job, well, other than when they went on robbing sprees but not an actual job. Hosea was a kind old man with a son that saved his life. If he knew who the real John Marston was…

No good…

Lying…

Robber…

Thief…

Outlaw…

He was a wanted man, just like the others he worked with, could he really bring his troubles of breaking the law into a good folk’s home?

No.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. If Hosea ever found out that he was a criminal with a price on his head, and the Pinkertons who would no doubt never stop chasing him to the Matthew ranch – it would hurt not only Hosea but John too.

“I’ll think about it.” He answered as honestly as he could.

If he could take his family with him to a ranch and start life over again…No more stealing…No more breaking the law…No longer being an outlaw – then he would. Yet, there was no place for someone like him in this forever changing world that wanted the Van Der Linde gang gone for good.

Hosea waved as he left to head to the Doctors.

John ended up in the saloon and scanned the place up and down until his eyes rested on the bar. He smirked slightly at who he saw there.

“Javier!”

Javier, who had been chatting up a blonde woman at the bar, turned around and looked up at John. It was as if he had seen a ghost.

“John!” Javier cheered loudly while getting up from the stool he had been perched on. The blonde woman merely moved on to the next man there. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”

“Ended up in an accident by a river,” John huffed. “Got saved by some locals who fixed me up – was in and out of it for a while with a fever.”

Patting John on the back, Javier pulled him along – dragging him to the doors. “Come on, they’re all gonna be so happy to see you again.”

As they exited, John couldn’t help but hear a familiar voice.

“You have to be joking…”

Hosea.

John glanced to where the old man was. He was stood in front of a shorter man in a suit, more than likely the Doctor.

“I’m sorry Mr Matthews~”

“Sorry?” Hosea choked out. “Sorry isn’t going to bring my son back from the dead without this damn medicine!”

“It was a trial medicine anyway, it wouldn’t have stopped~”

Hosea held up his hands to get the man to stop talking. “Tell me when the next shipment of the medication will be in, sir.”

The doctor scratched the back of his head. “Look, Mr Matthews, all of our supply wagons have been robbed – until those bandits stop, we won’t have anymore. I…I doubt they’ll be stopped anytime soon.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Go home. Be with your son while you still have the chance.”

John felt a pang of misery as he watched the scene unfold – Hosea looked completely defeated. The hope and wisdom in his eyes had all but vanished.

“Amigo, come on!”

John snapped back to reality as Javier pulled his horse towards him – the scarred man got on the back with ease and then they set off for the camp. He could only hope and pray that those “bandits” stealing whatever this medicine was wasn’t the Van Der Linde gang…


	2. Chapter 2

When John had returned to camp with a pat on the back from Javier, who quickly volunteered for guard duty, no doubt so he wouldn’t see the massacre about to happen when Dutch and the scarred man met yet again. However, the first thing he received was a swift slap across his wounded face from the one he had shared a bed with so long ago.

 

“What the hell, Abigail?!” John hissed as he held the “was” healing scars on his face. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth as the pain struck like lightning hitting the earth.

 

Abigail looked as if she was about ready to murder, which, knowing her like he did, she probably was.

 

“You left again without even saying goodbye! You promised me and the boy you wouldn’t do this again.” Her voice went from the force of a lion to a quiver of a whisper. “You. Promised.”

 

Wincing a little, John tried his best to ignore the burning sensation running along his jawline and the pounding in his head, he sighed slowly.

 

“Abigail, it wasn’t like that and you know it~” He reached out to take her shaking hand into his, but she stepped back away from him shaking her head.

 

“Just don’t,” she held up a weary hand. “Not right now.”

 

“Papa!”

 

John glanced behind Abigail and found a happy looking Jack running their way, he couldn’t help but grin at the sight of his boy – youthful, innocent and cheerful – well, as much as he could be with being stuck in a gang of wanted outlaws.

 

“Hey son,” with ease, Jack was lifted up into the air and rested in John’s arms – placing a little white flower in his vest pocket. “Watcha got there?”

 

“It’s a flower, me and Auntie Karen picked it while we were waiting for you to come back…” He paused a moment. Gazing at the padding on John’s head. The young boy reached out and gently placed his hand against it. “What’s that, Papa?”

 

John looked down at Abigail and frowned. She was acting as if she couldn’t stand to see the sight of him, then again, with all the promises he had made of getting them into a better life…and yet he was still here. They. Were still here.

 

“Just…Um…A fishing trip went wrong is all.”

 

Jack stared with a fascinated look taking over his features. “Did you catch any fish?”

 

“Oh, uh, not exactly no.” It now dawned on John that his son, as young as he was, was not stupid by any means. He was growing up. Fast. Too fast.

 

Placing Jack down before he could ask anymore questions that would incriminate him, John pushed him towards the tent that belonged to them. “Go on, son – me and your mama need to talk.”

 

He whined, not wanting to leave, but he folded his arms and sulked away towards the tents that had a few toys saved from Blackwater before the whole Ferry mess hit them fast and hard. It would take them a very long time to recover what they had lost. If they would ever recovery from it. 

 

“He has your puppy dog eyes,” Abigail murmured. “Can hardly say no to him already.” A chuckle, light and soft escaped her lips before she turned to face him.

 

She didn’t seem as angry now as she was, but there was still an urgency for John to tread light whichever way their conversation went.

 

“We were worried sick…I thought for a moment…I’d finally lost you, and Jack would grow up without a father.” Looking up at the darkening skies above, John could tell she was doing her hardest to fight back tears. “We…I…Missed you.”

 

John felt a sudden pang of guilt for making her worry like that. He loved her. And he knew she loved him. Even if their love wasn’t something that they could explain to anyone, it was complicated by all manners and meaning of the word “complicated,” but they understood it and didn’t need anyone else’s approval.

 

With a heavy sigh, Marston made to hug the woman, but she moved away – slowly wondering to where Jack had gone.

 

“Next time if you’re going to go – just go and don’t come back. Don’t let the boy be waiting for a father who’s never going to show up.”

 

And just like that, the cold night came all too quickly for John’s liking…

 

(((())))

 

The Matthew ranch was quiet throughout the night. One young male keeping watch for any foes to appear, or predators awaiting a midnight snack on their animals, or even them themselves, while the other male on guard duty continued to take long swings from a bottle of something that could no doubt burn holes through a person’s throat.

 

“Are you gonna actually go check the perimeter or just keep drinkin’?”

 

“I’m gonna keep on drinkin’, ol’ Lenny~boy!” An Irish accent replied.

 

Lenny rolled his eyes, slinging his rifle over his shoulders and easing up where he stood – a pair of binoculars hanging from his waist band.

 

“You’re a no-good drunk, Sean.”

 

A hiccup followed. “And you’re only now just figuring that out?”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lenny glanced at the ginger haired man. “You could at least take things a bit more seriously – we’re one man down right now so until he gets better~”

 

“If.” Sean interrupted. “ _If_ he gets better.”

 

“Don’t say that.” Lenny warned, brow furrowing. “You know he will and that’s that.”

 

Sean, now shockingly seeming sober, sat up from where he had been partly perched between where two of the Matthew Ranch fences connected together - creating a corner unit by the front field that led back to the Ranchers home.

 

His bright eyes dark in the low light of the night as he gazed helplessly into the bottle.

 

“We don’t know if he will make it throu’ this time…” The usual cheery, problem-free Sean McGuire looked like he lost all hope in a single moment.

 

Lenny couldn’t bring himself to saying anything else. All he could do was watch as Sean threw down the bottle, the last of its liquids flooding onto the mud and grass underfoot – its owner heading off with a surprisingly steady hand on the pistol that was being held in its holster by his hip.

 

“Where are you going?” Lenny called after him.

 

“Practice shootin’.” Was his only reply as Sean waved him off without looking back.

 

It didn’t take long for Lenny to hear the echoed sound of a gun firing and cursed words following soon after from Sean, he was missing whatever he had chosen to aim at, and badly from the string of unholy words that followed.

 

Lenny couldn’t help but look back to the Ranch house and internally wish he could go and see how his brother, though not by blood but by sheer bond alone, was holding up.

 

A small glow of a lantern illuminating one of the windows let him know that the other was still up, no doubt watching over Lenny and Sean like he always did.

 

“Fucking hell!”

 

Lenny find himself scanning the perimeter with his eyes as he continued to listen to Sean’s chosen words as he kept missing his target.

 

“Oh Arthur,” Lenny mumbled to himself. “You gotta get better soon just so you can teach that Irish fool how to shoot straight.”

 

(((())))

 

The new dawn broke out over the small camp, the sight itself was beautiful, but the atmosphere in the actual camp on the other hand was… well, it was anything but pleasant.

 

Mr Pearson and Mrs Grimshaw were barking out orders at everyone to get off their ass and go find some work. John felt the sudden urge to snap and tell them to take up their own advice but bit his lip to stop any words from free-falling out of his mouth.

 

Glancing around, John noted that he hadn’t seen Bill at all since he returned. Javier was obviously already in town and talking to the “lovely” ladies that were there. Karen and Tilly both had guns in hand as they ventured around the camp to keep it safe. The others must have been following the orders given because for the life of him he couldn’t see where they were.

 

With a sigh, John stood up from his lone bed roll. He had, well and truly, camped outdoors last night. He didn’t get the comfort of sleeping with Abigail and Jack in the tent, oh no, it was the cold, earthy floor for him. And would be probably for a while, too.

It made him think back to the Ranch.

 

Hosea.

 

He couldn’t help but wonder if the old man was alright after seeming so distressed when they had left. But the one thing that gripped at his mind and wouldn’t break free were those eyes.

 

…Arthur….

 

The name rang through John’s head and he grimaced – wishing to clear his mind instead of having it being taken over by a man he didn’t even know.

 

Heading to a coffee pot on the fire, John took a mug and pushed his cup in until it had his desired amount. The one thing he knew for sure, and without any second thoughts, was that Mr Pearson’s cooking and coffee brewing was completely and utterly terrible.  

 

Eyeing the rest of the camp, well, what was left after Susan Grimshaw was through with it, he spied Dutch giving him sideway glances while all those who were brave enough to remain carried on with their daily chores. 

 

"Home sweet home," John mumbled as he took one sip and wished he had either drowned or been ate by those wolves. In one quick motion – he tipped the coffee, if he could even call it that, out without a single trace of remorse for the brown…goo, that Pearson had created. More than likely a recipe from his Navy days.  And it was one he could stick as well.

 

"I got news, boss!" The sound of heavy hooves clapping against dirt covered ground and the vocals of its owner booming throughout the camp made John snap his attention to the rider coming in as fast as he could.

 

It was Bill.  

 

He rode in on his beloved horse. A proud smile on his face as he hopped off the beast and made his way over to Dutch, who had begun to glare daggers into an old map on an even older, decaying create which it was resting upon.

John lazily gazed around the camp, as if expecting a round of applause to come for Bill's grand entrance, yet, like with himself from last night when he arrived, none came. The scarred man had to admit that it made him feel a little better about himself.

"And what would that be, son?" Dutch asked without looking up from where he was so intently watching - almost as if the longer he stared at the map a truly amazing plan would suddenly spring into his complex mind.

 

"A score. A really good one."

 

Now that got people's attention. Both Mrs Grimshaw and Pearson stopped what they were doing to listen in, while Tilly and Karen slowed down in their pacing to catch on to what was happening.

Dutch finally looked up. "Go on."

 

Bill had this shine in his eyes. Like a kid getting a lollipop or something sweet and sugary for the first time. "I was asking around town, discreetly of course, and found out about this old rancher. He's loaded. I'm talking big bucks, boss. You're always saying we need one last job to get us to paradise, right? I think this could be it."

 

Dutch rubbed his chin in thought. "That's great, Mr Williamson, but what about guards, guns and other unforeseen circumstances?"

 

John snorted. He wanted so badly to pipe up a comment about Blackwater but he bit his tongue until it almost bled.

 

"That's the beauty of it!" Bill opened his arms wide - using his hands to detail the discovery of his. "He only has his three sons, and one of them is on their death bed apparently. Hell, we could take them out without them even knowing! Rob the joint and then get the hell outta dodge, so to speak."

 

And there is was, John rolled his eyes, that look Dutch got when he began to scheme and work with impossible things in his head. "And what's this place called, son?"

 

"The Matthews Ranch-"

 

John's eyes snapped to the two men. He walked forwards with a slight groan of complaint from his ever aching muscles and sheer stiffness from lack of use.

 

Dutch eyed him as he came closer. "The forever doubter, gracing us with his presence again, want to tell me how insane I am for just standing here, hmm?"

 

John paid the comment no mind, instead focusing on Bill. "Where'd you get this information from?"

 

Bill scratched his head. "Some locals. I'm telling you guys, this could be our last big break."

 

"No way," John objected. "If this is the Matthew ranch near Valentine - then leave them alone. They saved my life."

 

Dutch raised an eyebrow. "So, you didn't just scurry off then?"

 

"Believe it or not, no. The stupid horse bucked me off. I landed in the water and almost drowned until a man saved me and took me to the Matthew ranch to recover."

 

"Interesting," the leader of the Van Der Linde gang mused. "Matthews, huh? Where have I heard that name before..." He tapped his fingers against the box and hummed in deep thought before finally clicking his fingers together.

 

"Hosea Matthews!"

 

"Yeah, that's the man who paid for my recovery." John didn't like the look in Dutch's eyes one bit. “How do you know him?”

 

The wounded man's shoulder was firmly squeezed in the strong grip of the elder. “All in good time,” said elder patted the tip of his nose in secrecy.

 

John really had a bad feeling about this.

 

An evilness appeared to take hold of Dutch’s features. "Gentlemen, I have a plan…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support so far for this story. Let me know if you want more. And don't worry, I know Arthur wasn't in this chapter but he and John meet again in the next one - I promise.  
> Also, I had to add a part with Sean and Lenny because they are just two awesome characters who love Arthur even though sometimes they don't know how to show it. Guess all that's left to say is...  
> LENNY!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support of this fic so far, I'm glad people are enjoying it :) It's a story that's going to unravel over a period of time, well, chapters, but if you want more than let me know. Sorry about all the mistakes ahead. 
> 
> Please be aware for some relatively small spoilers ahead.

_One week later..._

 

It was early afternoon by the time John arrived at his destination. A hat on his head to protect his eyes from the mid-day glare of the sun, and his trusty coat - which could be known to some as his pride and joy. With a quick stretch of his muscles, he jumped down from where he had sat for what seemed like forever, time passing by slowly as he contemplated the far too many thoughts swarming around inside his head. This was a terrible idea, and John hated the fact that he had been talked into it, but when all was said and done, and with what Dutch had been suggesting, he didn't have much of a choice other than to listen to the elder of their gang. He just hoped and prayed this would be quick, and no one got hurt.

 

"Keep the change," John mumbled as he passed a Stagecoach driver a few bucks for getting him to where he was. Though he had to admit, the driver was annoying with the endless amount of conversation he tried to make - which merely made things awkward. Especially as John was in no mood to listen or converse with anyone, and deﬁnitely not a nosy driver like the feller who had gotten him here could be.

 

"Good people, these folks are."

 

John suddenly felt the urge to roll his eyes as once again the man spoke. The scarred male turned to the wrinkled man who owned the Stagecoach. "I know," he uttered through a breath. "They saved my life." He didn't care to give the fool anymore information as he decided to walk away, heading through an entrance where a sign hung proudly.

 

_'The Matthew's Ranch.'_

Flicking his eyes over the place, John was really taken back at the property that Hosea owned. No doubt worked hard for, too. Deep inside he could picture himself on a ranch of his own one day, Abigail, Jack...hell, even Uncle. Maybe even Dutch, if, of course, he got his head from being stuck up his own ass.

 

"Well, if it isn't Mr Marston!"

 

John's eyes snapped up at the sound of his name. There, on the patio of the ranch house, was Hosea. He was sitting on an old wooden chair, glossed ﬁnely, as he carved something into a piece of small wood in his hands.

 

"Mr Matthews," a tilt of his hat followed in greeting. "I hope all is well."

 

Hosea smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Always." He stood up and moved down the steps leading to the dirt path John was now standing on. "Back so soon? I hope your injuries haven't been a bother?"

 

He shook his head. "No sir, I'm as ﬁt as a ﬁddle thanks to you."

 

Hosea chuckled, waving him off slightly. "It was a combined effort, I assure you."

 

With a sigh, John ﬁgured he should get down to business and took off his hat - holding it against his hip. He felt nervous all of a sudden, like when he was younger and doing something completely new for the ﬁrst time. "Sir, I hate to ask, 'specially after ya’ll been so kind to me already. I was wondering if that offer of a job was still up for grabs?"

 

Hosea patted his back. "Of course, son. You know, when Arthur brought you back, I just knew you were one of the good ones."

 

_'If only you knew, old man...'_ John thought with a cloud of dread taking over him.

 

"So, when do you want to start?"

 

John shrugged his broad shoulders. "I can start right now if you want me to, sir."

 

"Ah. A keen worker, I like that." Hosea began to walk towards a stable but stopped to turn around and face the younger male. "Oh, and Mr Marston, less of the sir, huh? It makes me sound old, which I am, but if my sons hear you calling me that they're never let it go. Hosea is just ﬁne."

 

"Yes, sir-" John stopped himself. "Yes, Hosea."

 

"We'll begin with a few light chores..." Hosea began to explain how things worked around the ranch. Routes and such, though John wouldn't be rushed into anything straight away.

 

Yet as John started to do some manual work, like moving the hay to the horses out by the ﬁelds, he couldn't help but feel a part of eyes on him. He frowned. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, but one that made him slowdown in his new line of work.

 

He gazed around slowly, but he couldn't spot anyone other than himself and Hosea, the latter of whom was humming as he made sure everything was correct.

 

Lifting his eyes, John caught sight of what, or rather who, had created the feeling of being watched.

 

There, within the ranch house, was someone by a bedroom window that captured the whole view of the front side of the ranch.

 

It didn't take John long to realise that it was the man who had saved him from the water not so long ago. His hair fell in strands around his features as he locked eyes with John's. The outlaw in hiding couldn't make out much of the man's expression other then the fact they were both studying each other like they themselves were pieces of a chest board. However, not long passed before the others chest started to heave where he stood, he began to slowly pound his fist against his chest, clearly trying to clear his airway but having great diﬃculty in doing so. In the end, the male retreated from his position in the window - fading back within his room.

 

John didn't realise he had taken steps towards the house until he heard Hosea call his name. He started to head back to the rancher, but it took him longer than he wished to admit to steal his eyes away from that window.

 

(())

 

Night came quickly over the ranch as John was ushered inside with Hosea following not far behind. There was a strain to his form, but after the past few hours spent actually doing work for a good cause, instead of just stealing and killing, he at least felt good about it this time. The ranch home hadn’t changed, apart from the lovely smell of food wafting out of the kitchen, and right then and there, John was already glad he wasn’t stuck at camp anymore – knowing full well that nothing Mr Pearson could conjure up would smell this good.

 

Mrs Downes, Edith, if he remembered correctly, smiled as the men entered. “Welcome back, Mr Marston. I wondered who it was that Hosea told me to put an extra plate out for.”

 

“Ma’am,” he took off his hat as he sat down, allowing it to rest against his leg. “Hope you don’t mind the extra mouth to feed.”

 

“Of course not!” She chuckled.

 

John spotted 5 plates set out and pondered who would be joining them. He had a feeling that he would be seeing the Irish fool again ~

 

“If it isn’t old scar face! I hope you didn’t get caught in the water again.” The loud laugh that came next almost made the man incredibly punch-able. Talk of the devil...John lifted his eyes and, as expected, there was the ginger haired male who had a large bottle of something, rather strong smelling, raised high with a loose grip surrounding it.

 

“Mr Macguire,” he responded. Short and sweet.

 

Sean turned to another male that had followed him in and nudged him lightly. “Lenny, look at this, Arthur saved this bastard and now his come back to cause us trouble.”

 

John watched as Lenny shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Don’t pay him any attention ~ the more he gets the louder he gets.”

 

“Now Lenny that ain’t fair~” Sean made to protest but Edith took this moment to speak up.

 

“Sean Macguire,” the man in question stood straighter at the harsh tone of the woman’s voice demanding attention. “No booze at the table, you know the rules.”

 

John wasn’t sure what the man muttered under his breath but a swift whack from a tea-towel made him scamper quickly to rid himself of the alcohol.

 

Sitting down, Edith unfolded a napkin. Her soft gaze flicked to John. “Don’t worry about Sean. He may seem like he has jagged edges, but it’s just because he cares but doesn’t know how to show it sometimes.” She whispered.

 

John guessed he could understand that, even if he was like an annoying kid already and he barely knew him.

 

“I don’t think we've met,” the man, Lenny, caught John’s attention. “I’m Leonard Summer’s, but you can call me Lenny. Everyone does.”

 

“John Marston,” they reached over the table and shook hands in greeting.

 

Lenny smiled widely. “The man Arthur saved, right? I’m glad I can finally make your acquaintance, Mr Marston.”

 

“John,” the outlaw insisted.

 

Lenny nodded, watching the food being poured into the bowls on the table. “So you working on the ranch now?”

 

John nodded. “Yeah. I can’t pay your family with money for saving my life, but I sure can pay with work~”

 

“You’ll get paid just like the rest,” Hosea piped up. John made to protest but before he could, the heavy footfalls of Sean came from the stairs. He entered the kitchen slash dinning room and made himself comfy on a chair. He looked cleaner, not sober, but cleaner at least. Not that John could talk as he himself now had a sweat about him from the afternoon sun that kissed his flesh.

 

“Arthur said he ain’t hungry, so I doubt he’s gonna come down again.” Sean slurred slightly with a sigh. “Can we eat now?”

 

All attention turned to Hosea who once again had that look of disappointment sketching its way onto his face. “Of course,” the elder waited for everyone to start before he himself began to pick at the food given.

 

It was definitely better then anything made at camp. Heck, even Abigail’s cooking wasn’t this good – John couldn’t help but think with a smirk. If she could have heard him utter those words…well, a whack would have followed.

 

And yet, as he ate, his eyes couldn’t help but find themselves focusing on the fifth plate where a chair lay empty. John frowned a little, wondering what could have been wrong with Hosea’s son. He recalled when he was in and out of things, watching the man sketch and refusing even then to eat anything properly. Clearly, he wasn’t well. He didn’t have to be a doctor to figure that one out. Curiosity was biting at the edges of his mind, but he tried to shake it off, he didn’t want to seem rude by asking Hosea – he wouldn’t even know where to begin with how to ask let alone anything else.

 

Instead, John turned his attention to the light chatter that was filling out at the table.

 

“How’s your son, Edith?” Hosea asked. “Any news on young Archie?”

 

“He’s doing just fine. Top of his class already.” She beamed like a proud mother, and she no doubt should be, John couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart as he thought of Jack. Would he ever go to school? “Though Archie did say that he was heading back soon to see us all, mainly Arthur though, I reckon.”

 

Hosea nodded. “I think Arthur would like that.” He turned to John. “You have a family don’t you, John?”

 

“Sure do,” he placed down his fork and lent back in his seat. “Got a boy named Jack, and his momma Abigail.”

 

“Oh bless,” Edith smiled if not a little teary eyed. “How olds the boy.”

 

“Ten, ma’am.”

 

She had such a fond look in her eye that John was partly taken back. “I remember when Archie was so small. I miss those days.”

 

“May I ask how old your boy is?” John questioned.

 

“He tends to think he’s older than what he is, though I suppose that’s understandable due to the fact his studying business.” Edith began. “He’s turning 19 soon, wants to own a few golf courses when he’s older.”

 

“The boys got brains,” Sean cheered through a mouthful of food. “Little Isaac Archie Downes. Look out for that name, scar face – he’ll probably own most of this land eventually.”

 

Lenny huffed. “Not if Cornwall has anything to do with it.”

 

John couldn’t help but feel the tension rise throughout the family. “Cornwall?”

 

“A nasty man,” Hosea all but spat. “He wants to take all the land he can and build his factories. Doesn’t care about decent folk like ourselves, only himself. Got an even nastier worker as his henchman.”

 

“Micah _god-damn_ Bell,” Sean’s fist made connect with the table, but with a disapproving look from both Edith and Hosea he uttered an apology before continuing. “He’s the worst of the worst, scar face. Foul man. No morals and no heart. If ye’ ever get ta’ see ‘im, I pity ya.”

 

John took all the information in. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t scare easily.”

 

The conversation continued for a while longer before they all began to retire to their bedrooms, John was back in the one he had been in not so long ago, fresh sheets and the scent of pinecones filled his nose upon entering the room. He moved along to the widow and traced the outside lands. It was Sean’s turn tonight to do guard duty before Hosea took over in the early hours of the morning, to which John had said he would gladly do it, and Lenny was quick to offer to come with him and show him the land and just how big it is.

 

Reluctantly, John peeled himself away from watching the outside world and sat down on the bed, leaning against the wall it had been pushed against. These people, this family, they were good people. Hell, they were his saviours. Yet the guilt continued to build within him as he thought back to what Dutch had said to get him here in the first place.

 

“I’m an idiot,” he murmured to himself quietly, his head falling back against the wall. Why was he doing this…this family didn’t deserve what Dutch wanted him to do…Rubbing a hand over his eyes roughly, he had a family too. He had to protect it. Even if that meant making another family suffer for it. He couldn’t lose Jack or Abigail, not after abandoning them like he had done a year prior. Dutch would get his way, he always did in the end.

 

(())

 

John wasn’t sure what time it was when his slumber was disturbed, but it was dark outside, and the only light was that coming from the moon shining over them. There was a noise. It wasn’t very loud, but it was there. At first, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from until he heard the stairs gently creak under a weight. Getting up, he quickly spotted Sean outside. The kid had the lantern hanging on part of the fence, his hat covering his eyes, fast asleep. John could hear his snores from where he stood. “So much for being on guard duty, kid.”

 

John had a bad feeling take over him. An ironic one. What if someone was sneaking around to rob the place? It’s not like the Irish man would notice, and from the sound of heavy breathing coming from the other rooms he figured the rest were well and truly asleep.

 

The front door opened and closed with a soft thud. John acted. He had his trusty pistol within his holster and grabbed his hat – leaving behind his coat. Taking two stairs at a time, it didn’t take long for him to reach the bottom and head for the door.

 

Peering out, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary at first, not until he saw a shadow pass by the horse stables.

 

Walking over almost silently, John looked around the big stable door and watched as a lamp was lit up by a match being struck from a boot. He recognised the person there straight away.

 

Arthur.

 

“There you are, boy,” the dark blonde male ushered through a deep, slightly cracked voice. He moved to a stable and opened the door, calming the creature within before patting it. “Been a while, huh?”

 

The question was answered with a loud whine to escape the horse and a pull of its front leg.

 

“Yeah, I know boy. Being cooped up here is no fun.”

 

John quickly shot back around the stable door as Arthur turned around. He heard rustling of a head collar being placed on the horse, and a saddle finding its way over its back. A few moments later and the outlaw hadn’t heard anything and figured it was safe to take another peek. Yet as he turned to look around, he jumped back in surprise as Arthur, black mask now covering his nose, mouth and jawline again, was there – casually leaning against the beams. Eyes locking with John’s.

 

“And just how long were you gonna stare, boy?”

 

“I…well…um….” John’s voice trailed off. He wasn’t sure as to what to say. All he could do was stare at the man in front of him. He wore a loose white dress shirt, black vest and trousers with riding boots, his clothes seemed too big for him now, and if John was right, then he had lost weight since he last saw him when he had been saved. 

 

Marston was very much aware of the holster with two pistols on the male’s figure, but ignored them, feeling embarrassed that he was still staring at the man. His eyes were so blood shot, not a good thing, John guessed…but…it brought out the colour in them. 

 

“Well, if you’re done starin’, I got places to be.” Arthur turned on his heel and took the reins of the horse he had saddled up.

 

The creature looked as if it was a shade of gold. Its blonde fur and mane was so well looked after and groomed, but it was the pure blue eyes that stood out the most – it looked like an animal sent down from the gods. Not that John believed in any of that nonsense.

 

“Ugh…Should you be riding by yourself?” John stepped into the stables, following the man as he began to lead the horse out of its confinement. “I mean, you don’t look too good mister…”

 

He stopped in his tracks after completely ignoring John’s comments. “If introductions are to be made, then my name’s Arthur Morgan.” With that he got up onto the horse, patting its neck.

 

“John Marston,” the scarred male stuck out his hand to shake the others – but the motion was ignored. “I guess I owe you my life.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything, boy.” Arthur slowly made the horse move forwards.

 

As John passed the final stable, he couldn’t help but look in sheer shock at the horse within it. “Hey, that’s my damn horse.” He glared at the dark maned beast, even though he knew it wasn’t the horses fault, it still sucked to be bucked off and left for dead.

 

“Yeah well, you can thank Hosea for that. He knew you’d be back.”

 

John had wanted to ask just how the elder had known he would be coming back, but never got the chance as Arthur was quick to ride off without so much as a farewell.

 

“Damn it…” John watched the fleeing figure and glanced around. He didn’t feel right letting Arthur ride off on his own. Would Hosea be happy if he knew Arthur had taken a midnight ride without letting him know? “Screw it.”

 

Glancing around John spotted his own saddle and took it into his arms, he greeted his horse, Old Boy, as gently as he could. He was glad that he seemed happy to see him again. John supposed that meant no hard feelings between them. The saddle and reins were quickly done and with a swift motion in the right direction, they were off chasing after the one who had just pulled away like a bullet firing from a gun. John bypassed Sean with a roll of his eyes as he was still passed out and sprawled along a patch of green.

 

It took John longer than he wanted to find Arthur who was riding through the multiple fields that belonged to Hosea. And it took him and Old Boy a lot longer to get close enough to call out.

 

“Slow down, would ya?!”

 

Arthur looked over his shoulder, a frown taking over his see able features. “What the hell do you want, boy?”

 

John gritted his teeth. “My name ain’t boy – it’s John Marston!” He tried to push Old Boy to go quicker to be side by side, but the beast would have none of it and refused, only just keeping at his current pace behind the golden stallion. “Would you just stop?!”

 

“Sure.”

 

John wasn’t expecting that reply.

 

Arthur’s horse stopped with grace. And Old Boy…well, skid marks of hooves now married the field as it slowly came to a halt – almost knocking John off from the sheer force of a stop.

 

Yanking at the horse to turn towards the other, John all but glared. “God damn, all I want to do is thank you for saving my life.”

 

“You already did that,” Arthur pointed out, but his attention wasn’t on John. His gaze fell over the land, practically squinting to see something. He pulled out a pair of binoculars from his satchel and placed them against his eyes. “An’ I already told ya not to.”

 

“And here I thought that Sean was gonna be the pain in the ass~” John started to mutter to himself before he was shushed by Arthur. “Great, now you’re shushing me.”

 

Another shushing noise escaped from the dark blonde’s hidden mouth and John felt his lips tighten into a frown of annoyance. Barely a second went by before John nudged himself and the horse closer towards Arthur’s and looked to where the male was spying and felt his frown deepening.

 

“What do you see?”

 

When there was no answer, John reached out and snatched the binoculars out of Arthur’s hands, hearing a muffled growl that sounded so weak it could have been a purring noise. John felt a smirk grace his lips as he took over from where Arthur had left off.

 

That’s when he saw it. Or rather, them.

 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” John hissed. “O’Driscoll’s.”

 

John handed Arthur back the equipment in his hand, to which the latter snatched them back and put them away.

 

“You know the O’Driscoll’s?” Arthur raised a brow.

 

“You could say that,” John answered. “Had a few run ins with them in the past.” He didn’t want to go into detail about how well the Van Der Linde gang and the O’Driscoll gang knew one another. It was dangerous, and he couldn’t risk it, if Arthur knew – if any of them knew…

 

“Looks like there’s only three of them,” Arthur nodded to the small group of O’Driscoll’s that were sneaking, almost terribly, onto Hosea’s land.

 

“Maybe you should go back to the ranch, Mr Morgan, and I’ll take care of them from here~” John couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride dribble into his mind as he felt the sudden urge to show off in front of the rancher for no apparent reason other than to clear out the O’Driscoll’s. “Don’t worry about a thing, you just get back safely-” His voice was cut off in its prime as Arthur checked his weapons to make sure he had ammo ready before placing it back in his holster. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m gonna go say hello,” their eyes met briefly. “I hope you can shoot better than you can swim, Mr Marston,” with that, Arthur charged ahead. John hadn’t even realised his jaw had dropped open in shock that the ill man seemed so determined. He wasn’t sure whether the man was oblivious to the fact that O’Driscoll’s, not that John himself wasn’t, were bad people that could hurt – if not kill – him and those on the entire ranch without so much as a blink of the eye. Or just that he was, like many others, fed up of the O’Driscoll’s doing and ready to clear them off.

 

Throwing caution to the wind, John followed in pursuit, both of them coming to a small trot when they grew nearer to the gang of three.

 

“Excuse me fellas,” when Arthur spoke the three of them jumped around. Apparently, they hadn’t realised they had been spotted and made to grab their guns – but instead they held up their hands as John and the dark blonde pointed their pistols at the group. “Why, pray tell, are you on this here land when it doesn’t belong to you?”

 

 The one O’Driscoll, no doubt the leader of the merry crusade, stepped forwards – sneering at Arthur. “Colm O’Driscoll wants payment for protection.”

 

The deep chuckle that came from Arthur was followed by a short passing of coughing. “Let me get this straight, Colm O’Driscoll, wants payment for protection…and three of his men stand before me with their hands up like a bunch of chickens.” He paused and pointed with his gun in hand to one of the men at the back who was visibly shaking. “Looking like they gone and crapped themselves already, and he wants me to pay for that?” 

 

The leader once again stepped closer, only stopping when John cocked his weapon of choice and turned it to point between the man’s eyes. “Careful, friend.” He warned.

 

He had a sick grin on his face. “Colm O’Driscoll is gonna hear about this.”

 

“I hope he does,” Arthur snorted. “And while we’re at it, you can delivery him a message for me; If I see one more damn O’Driscoll anywhere near this property then I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

 

The O’Driscoll laughed. And John felt his finger press against his trigger slightly, he didn’t like the way the man was looking at Arthur, he knew if he moved an inch closer he would put a bullet between the mans eyes.

 

“You?” He mocked while putting his arms down, the other one following suit while the last continued to shake where he stood. Frozen in fear. “Why cover your face? Everyone knows you’re gonna die sooner than later. Once you’re gone, who’s gonna protect this place, huh?”

 

The other one nodded in agreement. “We should just put you out of your misery here and now, be kind to ya.”

 

John heard enough. “I don’t think you’re in any position to say that, but I dare you, say something stupid again and I’ll get rid of that ridiculous look off your faces.”

 

“Oh, would you look at that?” They nudged one another. “Sickie gone and got himself a body guard~”

 

A bang was heard. Loud and clear. And then deathly silence.

 

The scarred man watched in amazement as Arthur’s gun fire a single round straight through the O’Driscoll’s hat – sending it flying. They stumbled back, falling on their asses before getting up and running off in the direction of which they came.

 

“How many men does it take to send a message?” Arthur lazily turned to John who was still marvelling at his pin-point accuracy.

 

“One.”

 

“That’s what I thought.” He put his gun away and pulled out a lasso rope. “Let’s go catch us an O’Driscoll.”

 

John changed his mind, Sean was definitely the pain in the ass, Arthur? Well, in another life, he would’ve made one hell of an outlaw.

 

The chase was on. Two of the O’Driscoll’s fired their weapons, but their aim was almost laughable, and John shot one in the arm and managed to chase the other off. The one who had been shot quickly made a bee line for the nearby forest to get lost in, but not before John sent another round that went straight through the man’s hand - gun falling to the ground.

 

_'And stay gone...'_ He turned around and headed back. By the time John found Arthur, who had chased the third, he was tied up like an animal – kicking and screaming pleads for his life.

 

“Shut up,” Arthur drawled as he rubbed his temple. As the boy continued to weep and cry, he bashed him on the back of his head to knock him out cold. With a raspy breath, Arthur sat down on the grass, looking up at John who came and knelt beside him.

 

“What do we do with him?”

 

“We’ll take him back to the ranch, tie him up to a tree and get one of the boys to get the sheriff out to take him in.”

 

It sounded like a decent plan, even if it did involve the law, John just hoped he could be out of sight when said Sheriff rode onto the ranch.

 

“Here, I’ll grab him and put him on the back of my horse.” John made to pick up the O’Driscoll, who looked no younger than Sean and Lenny, but he was stopped by Arthur getting up in one quick motion and protesting.

 

“I can take him back. I don’t need your help, Mr Marston.”

 

John gazed at the dark blonde. He knew that look that Arthur had in his eyes, he himself had it more than once in his life time. It was a look that read that he didn’t want to be pitied by anyone, especially not a new comer like John. He could respect that. “Fair enough,” he moved away and sat back upon Old Boy. He watched Arthur take his time to catch his breath as he heaved the O’Driscoll onto his shoulder before whistling his horse over – whom came straight away. He tried not to pay any mind to the fact that he looked as if he could pass out at any given moment.

 

“So, your horse,” John pointed to the stallion he was remarkably impressed with. “He’s a unique one.”

 

“You could say that again,” Arthur pulled himself up on top of the creature. “Unique and as stubborn as ever.”

 

“Mind me asking where you got him?” They began to ride back, slower, thankfully, then how they had gotten there.

 

Arthur was quiet for a moment or two before he answered. “This here is Buell,” he ran a hand through the horse’s locks. “He was a gift from an old friend of mine. Fella by the name of Hamish Sinclair, a retried soldier. Gave him me cuz he was getting too old to keep up with Buell’s needs...and stubbornness.”

 

John hummed in answer. Arthur didn’t seem like the type of person to open up easily, so even getting that much information out of him felt like a good start.

 

“Seems like a good stallion.”

 

“Buell is, though, yours ain’t too bad…” Arthur looked at Old Boy and then back at John. “Of course, providing he isn’t being ridden by an idiot.”

 

John huffed. “Hey, if it wasn’t for that bear then the horse wouldn’t have gone and got all spooked.”

 

“Sure,” Arthur laughed. “Blame the bear.”

 

(())

 

Dawn was breaking over across the land when they got back to the house. Hosea was busy lecturing Sean about falling asleep, and all the kid could do was grin sheepishly before the old man was distracted by John and Arthur’s return - he took the moment to go and sneak off somewhere.

 

“Arthur!” Hosea all but cried out as he practically ran and took hold of Buell’s reins from the younger rancher’s grip, paying John no mind. “What were you thinking going off like that?! What if something was to happen to you? You had us all worried sick, you stupid boy!”

 

“I ain’t no child, Hosea, I-”

 

Hosea held up his hand to silence the man.

 

John felt awkward being there and listening to the conversation, so he made himself busy by putting Old Boy back in the stables. Once Arthur was off Buell, the outlaw grabbed the O’Driscoll and threw him to the ground without a care before moving the stallion off – which the beast didn’t seem to happy about John handling him, but as the heated argument grew, the horse made the smart decision to join the others.

 

“For the last time, Arthur, you can’t go anywhere by yourself-!”

 

John wanted to point out that he himself had been with Arthur and would have protect the male if he had needed it, but it seemed like he could handle himself just fine.

 

“And I keep tellin’ ya Hosea, I don’t need help – I’m....I-I'm fine~” As if on que of Arthur saying those words, his whole frame began to shake as he stumbled around, coughing uncontrollably.

 

“Arthur!” Hosea’s anger vanished and was replaced by fear as the other couldn’t respond in no way other than gasping at air through rounds of heavy coughing.

 

Being quick in his movements, John found himself catching Arthur as the male passed out, he held him loosely in his arms as Hosea rushed over.

 

“Is he gonna be okay?” John had to ask as he stared at Arthur’s expressionless face. He was still breathing, at least.

 

“I don’t know…” Hosea admitted sadly. “I…I need to get the doctor here,” he glanced at their new captive. “And the sheriff, it seems.” Standing the elder looked a little out of it. “Mr Marston, I hate to ask, but can you take Arthur to his room please? He needs to rest. I’ll get Edith to show you.”

 

“Of course,” being as gentle as he could be, John lifted Arthur over his shoulder, being encourage by the beat of his heart against him. “Take Lenny with you,” John insisted. He knew there would still be O’Driscoll’s about and he didn’t want the kind man to get hurt.

 

Hosea rushed to the house and a few moments later, Lenny and Edith came out, at seeing the sight of John holding Arthur they hurried over.

 

“Arthur!” Lenny made to reach out but was stopped by Hosea.

 

“Lenny, we need to move. We have to get a doctor here.” Nodding, they both grabbed their horses, Hosea turning to Edith who was stood in shock. “Mrs Downes, please direct John to Arthur’s room!” They rode off quickly.

 

“Mr Morgan’s room is the furthest on the left,” she instructed while still being in shock at seeing the dark blonde being held by John.

 

“Thank you,” the scarred man walked towards the house but stopped dead. “Do you know how to shoot a gun, Mrs Downes?”

 

Slowly, the woman nodded.

 

“Good,” John grabbed his pistol and passed it to her, pointing at the O’Driscoll. “If he moves, shoot him.”

 

“With pleasure,” Edith tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, already pointing the gun at the person on the floor. He had a feeling they were in good hands.

 

John walked through the house with easy, making quick work of the steps as he made his way to Arthur’s room, or at least he hoped it was the man’s room. It was a decent size compared to the one John had been gifted, not that he was complaining, there was a bed, bookcase filled with numerous covers, a desk sat nearby the window – there was a few pieces of paper scattered around with smudges from pencil work with two brown leathered journals laying on top of it – a large mirror stood, partly broken, in the corner by the door, and finally there was a chest of draws which was finely polished. Upon it was a rag with blood stains, but the marks didn’t end there, patches of droplets of blood lingered over the room. The stains were smeared as if someone had tried to clean them up, but it was no good. Parts were dry and cracked while others lay in tiny poodles.

 

“Jesus…How sick are you…” He placed Arthur down on the bed. Pulling at the covers and rearranging them over the other with ease. “That can’t be helping much…” Hearing pained wheezing, John crouched down next to Arthur and slowly pulled away the bandanna that obstructed the lower half of his face. Blood graced his lips, parting every now and then to take in what air he could. Acting fast, John grabbed the rag from the side and returned, delicately tracing the rag along the bodily liquids until all that was left was a mere imprint that would have to be washed off later.

 

Placing the rag down, John glanced out the window, spotting Edith and Sean by where the O’Driscoll was – now being tied up against a tree by the stables – its wooden branches over hanging against the framework making it a pretty sight to see. Sean was talking to the boy, who was still shaking like a scared child, while Edith shook her head and ventured towards the house. In turn, he heard light footsteps that crept to the door of the room he was in.

 

Edith lent against the side after placing Marston's gun down by the bookcase, looking into the room, a sad glint taking over her eyes. “I’m sorry you had to~”

 

John cut her off. “Don’t apologise, Ma’am. Mr Morgan saved my life, least I can do is make sure that he’s okay.”

 

Edith nodded, turning away. “I’m going to keep an eye out for Hosea and Lenny, hopefully they won’t be long, do you mind keeping Arthur company?”

 

“Not a problem,” John sat next to the bed, leaning against it and the wall. “I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”

 

“Thank you, Mr Marston.” She turned to leave before glancing back at him. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

 

They shared a goodbye and John was left to his thoughts. Yet all he could manage to do was watch the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, however small it might be, he felt glad that the sharp-shooter was still breathing. Resting his head against the bed slightly, John ignored the closeness between them, and allowed his eyes to fall shut as he listened to now steady sound of Arthur’s breathing…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, folks. I feel like this chapter is really rushed, but it needed to be done so the whole illness is explained, sorta. Anyway, thanks for reading and hopefully it won't take me so long to update next time. All mistakes are my own, I make them to keep y'all sharp and on point ;)

It was somewhat surprising, yet at the same time predictable, by how fast Hosea and Lenny returned with a doctor, and a slightly older than himself woman, riding fast and hard until they came to a delicate stop near the stables where Sean greeted them eagerly. The O’Driscoll he had been chatting to was now in the barn, but the woman they rode in with didn’t seem happy at not seeing the kid as soon as she entered the property.

 

 

Straight away the woman, a much lighter blonde than Arthur, who wore trousers and an old checked shirt that had clearly been a man’s, dismounted with a rifle already in her grip – her knuckles turning a pasty white at how hard her hand was squeezing the weapon. A small badge, the shape of a Sheriffs star, hung loosely from her breast pocket, its golden framework glistening partly thanks to the rays of sun.

 

 

“Where’s the damn O’Driscoll?!” Her voice was hoarse, rough and cold.

 

 

John, who was leaning against the window frame, frowned. The woman seemed to have a one tracked mind. He let his orbs drift to Arthur, still passed out on the bed which he had been placed upon, his breathing anything but gentle as he heaved throughout his slumber. It wasn’t a peaceful one, either. He shook now and then, trembling and teeth chattering like he was caught in a snowstorm, but his skin burning as if he was trapped in the boiling gaze of the sun.

 

 

Feeling annoyed at the woman who continued to demand where the O’Driscoll was, even so much as to grab Hosea by the collar of his shirt, John exited the room, leaving behind the troubled rancher, and made his way over to the four members who had gathered together.

 

 

“Tell me where the O’Driscoll is, Hosea!”

 

 

“Sadie, I need to see to Arthur~”

 

 

The rifle shook in her grip and rage burned through her eyes as she pushed the older man back forcefully, John took that moment to intervene and take the rifle from the woman’s hands, which in hind sight was not the best of his ideas – but this Sadie seemed to be a loose cannon.

 

 

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” Sadie roared.

 

 

“John Marston,” he held the rifle against his chest. “And you need to calm down before you even think about holding a gun, let alone firing one.”

 

 

Sadie, who was shorter than John, glared straight through him. Yet, feeling the need to get things moving so Arthur would be okay, John didn’t back down and gave as good as he got.

 

 

“You better give that back to me, boy.”

 

 

“What is it with you people and calling me boy?” John ignored her and turned to Hosea. “Mr Matthews, Arthur’s still asleep in his room but you can go to him ~ “

 

 

There was no time to react as a fist made contact with the side of John’s face were the scars would permanently remain, sending him down within one foul swoop.

 

 

“What the hell?!” Hissing at the pain, the gun was stolen from his grip and the barrel of the it was placed against his forehead and suddenly the mood changed dramatically. “…Easy now,” he looked her in the eyes. Her face had too many emotions to read. “No one has to die here.”

 

 

“Stop,” Hosea touched her shoulder gently. “Please, Sadie. John is a friend. Arthur saved him. You’re not thinking straight. You know Arthur needs help and instead we’re out here fighting each other!”

 

 

Reluctantly, Sadie lowered the gun. “Go to Arthur.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. One last fleeting look at John as he was helped up by Lenny, and she turned her attention to the Irish man, who had been silently cheering her on through the whole thing. “Take me to the O’Driscoll.”

 

-

 

 

“How has he been?” Hosea asked as he, the doctor and John made it back to the ranch house and up to Arthur’s room.

 

 

Terrible. John wanted to admit. His breathing, the gasping, the painful hacking and clawing at his own throat to try and get air into his shaking form was awful to watch. Especially as John, indebted to Arthur, could do nothing but watch.

 

 

“I’m sure he’s seen better days,” John answered as truthfully as he could. He couldn’t imagine being in Hosea’s shoes…If Jack was this sick…he wouldn’t be as strong as Hosea and he knew it.

 

 

“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I would like to review the patient by myself.”

 

 

John began to protest, but Hosea, calm as ever, held him back. And just like that, Arthur’s door was shut with them standing on the other side of it. Boy did John hate it, within a few seconds he was pacing back and forth as Hosea lent against the wall opposite his son’s room. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours, and even hours felt like days.

 

 

“John…” It was Hosea’s voice that brought John away from burning holes into the door with his fierce glare. “You running a hole into the floor isn’t going to help anything.”

 

 

“Sorry,” he murmured, standing next to Hosea who was staring at him, causing the outlaw to raise an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”

 

 

“Nothing,” Hosea shook his head. “I’ve just seen that look before is all.” Before John could reply with a "what look", the elder continued.

 

 

“I suppose you must be curious as to what’s wrong with my son’s health…?”

 

 

 _Well, now that you mention it_ …John’s thought trailed off as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, sir, I mean Hosea, Arthur seems like a man who keeps things to himself. I figured I would wait until he felt comfortable to open up to me about it.”

 

 

John felt like whacking his head against a wall. Open up about it? Jeez, he was going soft since meeting these guys.

 

 

Hosea muttered. “You’ll be waiting a long time,” and then that look over took his features again. “Or perhaps not.”

 

 

A small, pregnant pause passed between them before John gave in. “I mean, would Arthur, Mr Morgan, be mad at you if you…I don’t know, told me what was wrong?”

 

 

“Oh, most definitely.”

 

 

Damn it.

 

 

Hosea chuckled at the look on the outlaw’s face. Something which resembled a kicked puppy. He remembered many an occasion, when Arthur was younger, where he would make them stop just so he could fuss a little runt of a pup with no home. He always did have a way with strays and animals in general.

 

 

“Have you ever heard of Tuberculosis?”

 

 

John looked confused at the term.

 

 

“In other words, TB?”

 

 

Realisation hit the outlaw. “Ain’t that a killer?”

 

 

Nodding, Hosea sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. “When I met Arthur, he was very sick, almost like he was now, and I took him in. He must’ve been about 14 years old. I found myself with this sick little boy who couldn’t speak with how ill he was, nor could he write or read. I nursed him back to health, a lot like he did for you, but…TB…well, you no doubt know that it’s infectious.”

 

 

“Yes sir. I heard some real nasty stories about TB.”

 

 

“Well, I happened to know a doctor, he owed me a favour or two. Dr Josiah Trelawny. I tell you now, that doctor could get away with murder. But, I digress, he came and saw Arthur. Straight away he knew it was TB and do you know what he told me?”

 

 

“What?”

 

 

“To dig two graves because not only would the boy die but so would I if I kept him in my home.”

 

 

John, fully intent to hearing the story through, turned to Hosea. “So, if I may, how are you both still…”

 

 

“Alive?” Hosea grinned like a cat. “I told Trelawny that I would do whatever it takes to make sure Arthur lives. It felt like years went by, and they probably did, and medication after medication, trial run after trial run, and finally, just as I started to get sick – Trelawny made something. He found something that made Arthur open his eyes again for the first time in so long. It was no easy road, not by a long shot, but it prevented his death. And then by the time the others came to the ranch, Josiah had been able to create an injection – something that goes in your upper arm to make sure you don’t catch TB from those infected. Mine is dormant for the time being, which means I can’t infect people, but Arthur? Unfortunately, if he is near someone for too long without the injection then they will get sick too.”

 

 

Hosea patted John’s arm. “Don’t worry, as soon as Arthur brought you back, I gave you the injection. I make sure everyone on this Ranch has it if I know they’ll be staying.”

 

 

“Thank you,” John was glad that Hosea had acted and gave him this mystery shot – he wouldn’t have wanted to make anyone else ill. “Hosea, if this Dr Trelawny created the medicine and its being stolen, then why can’t he just make anymore just for Arthur?”

 

 

“Josiah is a traveller, and though he adores Arthur, he helps those who can't help themselves. I’m assuming you know about the Indians and the trouble they’ve been put through thanks to the Army?”

 

 

“Word gets around.”

 

 

“Josiah is traveling with a man named Charles Smith, an old friend of Arthur’s, who aids the Indians, sadly it’s nearly impossible to get in contact with him. Not from lack of trying, whenever they’re not here, that’s what Sean and Lenny are doing – trying to track the Doctor down.”

 

 

John went to open his mouth to speak again, but his words never came out as the door to the bedroom opened and out walked the doctor – cleaning his hands as best he could.

 

 

“I’ve done the best I could, Mr Matthews, but without the medication from Dr Trelawny soon – he won’t make it this time.”

 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” John stood up straight, teeth gritted and eyes aflame.

 

 

The doctor sighed. “It means, that if he is left untreated, then he will be too far gone to save. I’m amazed he has lasted this long, the boy’s a fighter that’s for sure.” He turned back to Hosea.  “I have given him something to boost what little energy he has left…but…I doubt he’ll last another week.”

 

 

Hosea hung his head. “Thank you doctor.” They made their goodbyes and John made his way into Arthur’s room. To his relief, his eyes were open, and they made contact with John’s.

 

 

“Guess I ain’t scared you off with all my hacking and coughing, huh?” His voice sounded so weak in comparison to how it was not so long ago.

 

 

“I guess I don’t scare too easily.”

 

 

“Then you’re a bigger fool than you look~”

 

 

“How are you feeling Arthur?” Hosea cut through the conversation.

 

 

“Just 'bout how I look.”

 

 

“No comment,” John smirked at the roll of the eyes he received from the poorly rancher.

 

 

“I should go check on Sadie,” Hosea stepped away from the two men. “Just call me if you need me.”

 

 

Arthur nodded, turning to John and frowning slightly after the elder had left. “Did he just say Sadie?”

 

 

“Yeah,” John said in annoyance. “Woman pulled a damn gun on me.”

 

 

“That’s my girl.” Arthur laughed lowly.

 

 

John didn’t understand why his chest began to burn and his stomach felt like it had bubbles in it. He was not jealous, or so he had to keep telling himself.

 

 

Arthur stopped at the expression John had on his face. “I doubt it was anything personal, Mr Marston. The O’Driscoll’s made her a widow, I can only assume she went off the deep end when she heard we had one on this ranch.”

 

 

“Oh…” Was all John could muster. Why couldn’t he peel his eyes away from Arthur? Why did he get so angry when the dark blonde spoke so fondly of Sadie?

 

 

John snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Arthur’s eyes begin to flutter slowly. “Hey,” he got down on his knees and moved as close as possible. “Do you need anything?”

 

 

“New lungs?”

 

 

John couldn’t help but smile as blood shot orbs gazed into his own amusedly. “Anything else?”

 

 

Arthur murmured but no words came out as his eyes closed, John reached out and placed his hand against Arthur’s cheek, rolling a thumb over his chapped lips slightly as the rancher began to move in closer to him – seeking the warmth. A moment passed and John thought Arthur had fallen to sleep, yet his eyes opened, and instead of moving away, his hand slowly raised up and loosely fell around John’s wrist.

 

 

How close had they gotten?

 

 

John didn’t even remember leaning in as their lips were mere inches apart.

 

 

Suddenly, the door to Arthur’s room burst open and John forced himself away as Lenny appeared, a sweat covering him as he stared with wide eyes. “Um, we have a problem. A big problem.”

 

 

Arthur struggled to sit up, and John went to help him, but the dark blonde refused the aid and eventually was able to steady himself to look at his fellow rancher that he called brother. “What’s happened now, Lenny?”

 

 

“It’s him, Arthur.” Lenny gulped. “It's Micah Bell, he's heading this way!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone supporting this fic! Love to you all. 
> 
> Ps, please don't except updates to be this quick. Honestly, I wasn't going to update this story ever again after the 3rd chapter, but then I played Red Dead Redemption 2 again not long ago...and, well, the plot bunnies came flooding back...I guess you could say "That's the way it is" <3  
>  Remember, all mistakes are my own, I make them as a brain teaser ^.^'

“I’ve told you before Mr Bell, and I’ll keep telling you, this property is not for sale – nor will it ever be to Cornwall.” Hosea’s voice was stern, and for the life of him, John had never seen the elder look so appalled at seeing another human being. Yet as the outlaw approached it became apparent as to why Hosea appeared to be so stand-off-ish. There, not even a few feet away, was a blonde male wearing a creamed colour hat. His hair fell into greasy lines around his jawline, the facial hair did him no favours and only added to the, what John could only describe, as a sleaze-ball look. He was tall, chunky, and wore semi-clean clothes.

 

_So this much be Micah Bell_ …John thought to himself as he slowly made his way over, he recalled the conversation they had at dinner not long ago, remembering that this man was the guy who worked for one, Leviticus Cornwall.

 

There was a wagon not far behind this Micah, and two men sat upon it while another two leaned against it in pure arrogant-ness as they eyed the ranch and its many acers of land that belonged to the Matthews. A small, cap covered head caught John’s attention, almost amusingly, Sean was sneaking behind these men and taking a peek inside the covered wagon without anyone noticing. The outlaw was amazed, Hosea was witnessing it as well and yet had no tells that he’s son was now committing a crime.

 

“Oh, come on now, Hosea~ old friend…”

 

John wanted to snort at the mere sound of the man’s voice. It sounded as greasy and the man looked. Not that the outlaw could talk, there was many an occasion where he had gone without washing, mainly due to the fact he hated water – but Abigail would always end up kicking him into a stream and throwing a bar of the scented stuff she always made him grab from a nearby town.

 

“Think about it,” Micah continued. “You give us the deed to this here land, and we’ll leave you alone. Hell, with the money Cornwall is willing to pay for this heap of crap you’ll be able to go live somewhere nice and warm until the last of your days are up.”

 

“I assure you, Mr Bell, money is not an issue.” Hosea stepped forwards slightly. “Now if you please, I have other more important matters to attend than to stand here and listen to you yap all day.”

 

Micah held up his hands in a mock defence. “Aren’t the O’Driscoll’s bothering you at all? I’m sure it must be real difficult with only two bone heads of sons left – and we all know their shooting ain’t half as good as mine.” As if to add to his point, both his hands rested on the handle of his twin pistols that were loosely hanging around his waist.

 

“And just how do you know about the O’Driscoll’s?” Hosea raised an eyebrow, and for the first time since their encounter, Micah seemed at a loss for words – flustered even at the challenge in the elder man’s voice and posture.

 

“I, well, uh…you know how it is! Word gets around, old man!”

 

“I’m sure it does,” Hosea folded his arms over his chest. “Mr Bell, I think you’ve over stayed your welcome here. I want you to leave. Now.”

 

“I’d listen to Mr Matthews if I were you,” John pipped up. Standing beside the rancher, hand firmly gripped against his own pistol in a silent threat. A form of pride twisted in his chest at the wide-eyed look Micah gave him, but it simmered down once the grease-ball let out a belly shaking laugh that showed a gold chipped tooth.

 

“What’s this? Tryin’ to replace me already, huh?”

 

John couldn’t help but give away a tiny squint of the eye at the other’s words. _Replace? What the hell does he mean by that?_

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Micah put a hand against his heart mockingly. “Didn’t they tell you? I used to work here, with ol’ black lung no less.”

 

“Black lung?” John’s grip loosened on his weapon of choice. The bitter sense of curiosity getting the better of him as it always did. He remembered that Abigail always said it would get him killed, but then the woman wouldn’t be able to stop herself from nosing around herself – guess they were similar, to an extent.

 

Micah grinned viciously at the two men standing before him. “You know, Cow Poke, don’t cha? The one and only Arthur _goddamn_ Morgan.” The grin fell slightly at the mere mention of the dark blonde’s name that rolled off his tongue.

 

“…You got some nerve being here, boy…”

 

Micah twisted partly, gazing, somewhat longingly at the new comer who slowly made their way towards the group. John felt the urge to jump in between them but held himself back, though he wasn’t quite sure how he was able to when Micah licked his lips in a sickening gesture. Lenny was close behind, no doubt ready for whatever was going to come next, but the kid had a aurora of pure nerves on the verge of exploding at the tension that was being created.

 

“People must look at you and think it’s the dead come back to haunt us all,” Micah laughed, and the other un-named Cornwall workers did the same. “How the hell are you still alive, black lung?!” He patted his thigh as he practically giggled. “You’re one hell of a tough son of a bitch, you know that?”

 

“I ain’t going nowhere until I put a bullet between your eyes~”

 

“Oh yeah?” The laughter stopped. Both men were mere inches apart. Arthur stood as straight as he could, blood shot eyes glaring into the careless ones of Micah. His mouth was once again covered, though it did nothing to hide the painful breaths he was taking and how hard he was trying to keep himself steady and strong. Clearly not wishing to be seen as weak in front of anyone, especially not Micah.

 

“And how you gonna do that, black lung?” The arrogant gun-slinger showed a toothy grin. “You can’t even stand straight let alone shoot straight.”

 

The rancher reached out and took a fist full of Micah’s tattered shirt into a balled fist. “I outta teach you some goddamn respect, boy~” Arthur’s words began to fade, the rage that had been like a lightening bolt throughout them vanished as coughs and gasps for air started to take its hold – his entire form shivering as his grip loosed from the others shirt and he fell down onto his knees. Hand falling from Micah, it took hold of his own throat while the other weakly held him up from landing in the dirt on the ground they stood upon.

 

“There, there, Black Lung,” Micah cooed as he knelt, fingers sliding through Arthur’s hair until it pulled his head back painfully - the hiss that left the rancher was enough to know the yank had hurt. He leaned in, sliding a piece of dark locks behind his ear, and began to whisper something that John couldn't quite hear.

 

Yet, if the outlaw was honest, he had stopped paying attention and threw caution to the wind. He wasn’t thinking, he was merely reacting, and before he could even stop to realise what the consequence of his actions would be – he had lunged at Micah. The two of them rolled around, punching and kicking one another as they fought each other.

 

John hadn’t realised, but Sean, now back from his rummaging through the wagon, beat one of Cornwall’s men over the head with a glass bottle of booze – empty, of course. Knocking the one unconcious, he attacked the other just as quick, and they began to throw punches. It wasn’t long before the other three started on the Irish man, and Lenny joined in – whacking one with the butt of his gun before it turned into a free for all. The outlaw was only vaguely aware that Hosea had pulled Arthur away from the hustle and tussle of the brawling men.

 

It wasn’t until the sound of a rifle going off made them all stop mid fight. Sean was on one of the men’s back, biting his ear, while Lenny managed to throw the other one off himself and stand up – rubbing dirt from his face. John, now with a busted lip to add to his scars, rolled off of the beaten gun-slinger and spat out blood. Micah, black eye and no doubt a broken nose, glared at the outlaw.

 

There, before them all, was Sadie. An unreadable look upon her face as she gazed at the sight of the men around her.

 

“Ah, if it isn’t Sadie Adler, the wannabe Sheriff of Valentine.” Micah groaned as he stood up. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

 

“You shut your mouth, Micah. I should arrest you for even stepping foot on this property.”

 

Micah shrugged, clapping his wrists together. “Why don’t cha? Oh, wait…Your husband was the sheriff, you know, before Colm O'Driscoll killed him… and you don’t actually hold any authority of the law, do you?”

 

Sadie looked like she was ready to put Micah down then and there. “You better watch your mouth, Micah.” She warned.

 

By that time, Cornwall’s men had recovered and limped their wounded-selves up onto the wagon, ready to depart at any given moment.

 

Micah turned and looked between John and where Arthur had been pulled to. “Don’t get too close now, cowboy, otherwise you’ll be coughing up a lung too.” He snickered before making his way onto the wagon and moving the horses. “You better think long and hard about my offer, Hosea.” The sleaze-ball finally made eye contact with Arthur again and blew him a kiss. “See ya next time, cow poke, I’ll be sure to bring flowers to your funeral.”

 

With that, they were gone.

 

John took the opportunity to fall back against the dirt with a soft groan. He lent his head back, taking in the skies above before he looked to Arthur – _keep a low profile,_ he mused to himself, _yeah right._

(-)-(-)-(-)-(-)

 

“The damn O’Driscoll’s are working for Cornwall, Hosea!”

 

“And what do you want me to do about it, Sadie?”

 

John, Lenny, Sean and Edith were sat in the living area. Somewhat awkwardly as a heated argument broke out between two people. They had no where to go other than to sit and listen to it. John didn’t mind, it was something to get his mind off a certain rancher, even if it wasn’t helping all that much. He gazed to where he had seen Arthur heading, back to his room, no doubt his journal and pen at the ready to write the eventful happenings that had gone on outside their home.

 

“Hell, I don’t know, but we gotta do something!”

 

“I know what we’ll do,” pure sarcasm came from Hosea. “We’ll go tell the law, shall we? Wait, no we can’t do that, can we? Why? Because Cornwall owns the law!”

 

There was a heavy silence that fell between them until Hosea spoke up again. “I’m sorry Sadie, I didn’t mean it to sound like it did.”

 

The widow scoffed. “…It’s fine, Hosea. We all got things on our mind.”

 

“Ya can say that again, lass,” Sean whistled as he flipped through some papers which he had previously pulled from his coat pocket – eagerly scanning over the words scrawled over the pages clutched in his grasp. “And I think we might have just found our own little loop hole.”

 

“Pass me that,” Lenny snatched the documents from the Irish male who grumbled in complaint. “Holy damn!”

 

“Mr Summers!” Edith scolded.

 

“Sorry, Mrs Downes.” Lenny passed Hosea the papers. “I think Sean might be right.”

 

“I’m always right, you lot just don’t have any faith in me!”

 

John, now standing, ignored Sean’s comment and stood behind the eldest rancher, Sadie doing the same.

 

“What is it?” Edith asked the question on everyone's minds.

 

“It’s documentation…about the land that belongs to the Indians now…”

 

“Wait,” John peered over the mans shoulder. “Didn’t you say that Dr Trelawny was with the Indians?”

 

“…Yes…” Hosea rubbed the bottom of his chin in deep thought. “There's a map showing where they were last located…If we can find where they’re camped, then we find Dr Trelawny – which means we can save Arthur.”

 

“Look there,” Sadie pointed to a signature. “That’s Colm O’Driscoll! The damn O’Driscoll’s _are_ working with Cornwall.”

 

“Great,” John muttered. “Two people with more money then sense and men who fire first before asking questions.”

 

Hosea turned to Sadie. “Did you get anything out of that kid?”

 

Sadie shook her head. “Other than the fact he ain’t no O’Driscoll. Kid wouldn’t talk.”

 

“Kieran,” all attention fell to Sean who was twiddling his thumbs as he spoke up - jumping slightly at all the gazes falling upon him. “What? We got talking is all, I couldn’t just keep calling him O’Driscoll – the name puts a bad taste in me mouth.”

 

“So now we know the _O’Driscoll’s_ name is Kieran.” John rolled his eyes. “Maybe he might be useful to us – an extra gun wouldn’t hurt to have around the ranch. This place is marked.” _By more than one gang…_

 

“And how do we know we can trust him?” Sadie snapped. “He’s an O’Driscoll!”

 

“Kieran could’ve just shouted when Micah and the Cornwall boys were here, but he didn’t.” Sean once again supplied the conversation. This time Lenny gave him a sceptical look. “He could’ve just screamed but he stayed quiet. I mean, if you were tied up and you knew someone you were teaming up with was here, and they outnumbered us – no offence to Arthur but he wasn’t much help – wouldn’t you have screamed?”

 

John shrugged his shoulders. “Kids got a point.”

 

“See!” Sean beamed. “Even Scarface agrees with me.”

 

“Yeah, don’t get use to it.” John snipped dryly.

 

“So,” Lenny finally stood up. “What’s the plan?”

 

The door to the room creaked open and Arthur was stood there, tucking his journal back into his satchel bag before leaning against the doorframe, face covered. “I’ll tell you what the plan is. Sean, Lenny stay here with Edith and Hosea, keep an eye on the O’Driscoll, and no Sean, I don’t mean share a drink with him.”

 

Sean looked hurt. “As if I would.”

 

Arthur sighed but otherwise ignored him. “Me, Saide and Mr Marston will go see what Cornwall is up to exactly.”

 

“No.” Hosea turned to Arthur. “I won’t allow that. You have to stay here, Arthur.”

 

Sadie, seemingly softer now than what John had ever seen her be before, spoke. “Arthur, honey, you should stay here…”

 

The dark blonde rancher seemed to take Hosea’s words like water off a ducks back, but when the widow spoke he truly seemed offended at her comment. “I can still fight, Sadie.”

 

“I know, I know!” Sadie protested. “What I meant was, you’re the best shot we have. We need you here to protect the ranch is all!”

 

“’Cause you did, Lassie.” Sean sniggered but it soon stopped by the look Arthur and Sadie gave him.

 

“Look,” Arthur gazed at them all. “I ain’t got much time left, hell, I don’t even care about the damn medicine. But if Cornwall is working with the O’Driscoll’s, then not only are the Indians in danger but so is Charles and Josiah.”

 

He turned to Hosea. “You know just as much as I do that they’ll be killed, every one of them. We have to do something, Hosea – we can’t just let that happen.”

 

Hosea seemed like he was battling himself. “Arthur…”

 

“I know, Hosea…I know.”

 

Edith made her way to the kitchen, calling out that she would make them some food for the journey ahead of them.

 

“I’ll ride with you Arthur,” Sadie announced, walking passed them all. “Whenever you’re ready then so am I.”

 

Sean got up and squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “You better come back, Arthur Morgan, or I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

 

Lenny out right hugged Arthur, no doubt a little too tightly for what the ill man would have liked, but he gave a gentle pat to the youngers back. “If you need us, then you just send word, we’ll be ready to fight.”

 

“I know you will, just keep an eye on that O’Driscoll for me...And Sean.”

 

Lenny nodded before he too left. Leaving behind Hosea, John and Arthur.

 

“Mr Marston,” Arthur began. “Will you ride with me?”

 

“Providing you don’t do any fancy tricks with that Buell of yours, then you got yourself a deal.” John couldn’t see it, but he knew the rancher was smirking at him.

 

“You just try and keep up now.”

 

A heavy sigh broke the men from their gaze as Hosea looked sadly between them. “May I have a word with Mr Marston, Arthur?”

 

A moment passed before the dark blonde shrugged. “Sure.” He left with one final look at them.

 

Hosea stood in front of John. “Mr Marston. You are not indebted to us by any means, you don’t have to fight this battle – it’s not yours to fight.”

 

John nodded. The man was right. Well, partly. “Hosea, my entire life I’ve been fighting. Sometimes it’s not been for the right reasons, but your son saved my life, and I need to try and save his. If we can find Dr Trelawny then that’s what I plan to do. I swear to you on my life, I will bring your son back to you.”

 

John would never mention it to anyone, but he saw the stray tear roll down Hosea’s cheek as the elder nodded and gulped down a sob. “Thank you, John…”

 

 )-(-(-)-)-(

 

It was dark, and John was struggling to see the very page he was holding, pen in hand as he wrote on a blank piece of paper. Cursing himself every now and then when the ink stained, or he accidently went off the page in hand. From that very moment he knew he would never again write in the dark like he was now.  With an almost childish way of sticking out his tongue at the paper when he had finished, he placed it in his pocket. It was a letter to Abigail. Though she couldn’t read, he was sure that Jack, a fast learner and avid reader of comics would be able to speak out the words which had been written down with his family in mind.

 

All he had to do now was find a post office.

 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this, Arthur Morgan,” A hushed voice of one Sean MacGuire ushered through the still air of the night. “They’re gonna kill you for this.”

 

“Yeah, well, you may have noticed I ain’t got that much time left anyway.” Arthur replied, voice low as well.

 

John watched as a barely lit lamp led the way to where he was holding up; the stables.

 

“I don’t even think Scar face will be happy with you about this.”

 

They stopped briefly. “Mr Marston has a family, Sean. Hosea said he has a wife and child.”

 

“And what about Sadie?”

 

“She’s a bit like you – too hot headed.”

 

“Hey!” Sean hissed lowly. “I’m gonna tell her you said that, Morgan.”

 

“You do that,” Arthur laughed as they entered the stables.

 

Sean stopped immediately as he saw who else was there. “Um, Arthur?”

 

“What?” Arthur tugged at his saddle, unaware of who had taken hold of Sean’s gaze.

 

“You know when you told me ye wanted to get out without anyone noticing?”

 

Arthur sighed as he placed the saddle down by Buell. Turning to face Sean he grumbled a rough “yes?”

 

Sean nodded ahead and Arthur turned, quickly covering his face as he spotted John, leaning causally against a wooden beam.

 

“So,” John started. “Heading out yourself, huh?”

 

Arthur, no doubt trying to ignore John existence, continued with saddling up his beloved horse. “You’d just slow me down, Mr Marston.”

 

“Tsk, that’s a poor excuse.”

 

Reaching into his bag, Arthur took out the documents from earlier and showed John a map. “The native Americans last known whereabouts was down in the swamp lands – there’s no way Old Boy could make that journey in time and I ain’t got…” He paused for a second to stop himself from admitting defeat. “I can’t afford delays, Mr Marston. Just go back to your family, I have to look after mine.”

 

“I don’t think so,” John challenged as Arthur climbed onto the back of Buell. Before he could kick off, John had taken hold of the reins and lifted himself and sat down behind Arthur – not giving him the chance to say anything, John continued to hold the reins to stop the rancher from taking command and probably getting the beast they were on to buck him off. Buell himself didn’t seem pleased at sharing his owner with John, but the horse merely huffed and allowed the outlaw to lead him. “There we go, easy does it boy.”

 

Sean watched with amazement. “No ones ever been able to get on Buell other than Morgan and old man Hamish!”

 

“Sean…” Arthur warned the younger male who began to laugh.

 

“My, my, don’t yall make a cute little~”

 

“Shut up!” Both John and Arthur snapped at the same time.

 

Sean shook his head and opened the stable doors for them to leave. “Oi, scar face – you better look after Morgan, you hear me?”

 

John felt the sheer tension and ridge-ness in Arthur’s back and shoulders that was pressed against the outlaw’s chest firmly, and he could tell that he wanted to shout at the Irish man but was somehow able to keep his mouth knitted together – instead he sighed heavily. He didn’t settle or relax; but he did snatch the reins from John’s hands and started to lead Buell into a gallop and out of the ranch.

 

John tried to ignore the welcoming warmth of Arthur’s body against his own, or how slender the man was, and just how perfectly they fit against one another as they rode together through the night…


	6. Chapter 6

The journey had been so far uneventful, John mused, with dawn peeking over the horizon. He couldn’t quite believe that the land they were venturing across was so beautiful to see, especially compared to the wintery, snow covered mountain the Van Der Linde gang had practically been trapped upon after Blackwater. The green grass flourishing, the gentle breeze gracing his skin, the smell of all the different woodlands and wildlife – he was once again starting to feel glad that the bear had spooked Old Boy like it had. Had it not, then he would probably be stuck in camp with the others – boiling over with rage – and unable to have witnessed any of this. And, of course, met any of those at the Matthew’s Ranch.

 

Arthur shuffled a little bit against John, most likely trying to get comfortable from all the riding and proximity of the two men as they rode throughout the night and now into the early morning. It wasn’t the first time John had been amazed at something about Arthur Morgan, and no doubt would it be the last thing, but he had thought the man would have had rather shot John in the head than ride with him like…this…

 

A few riders, hunters from the gear they were carrying, gave them the oddest look as they passed. Whispering something or another amongst themselves and turning back now and then just to see if they had truly witnessed what had been before them. In turn, John would glare and make sure they saw his hand touch his holster – he might be helping the Matthew’s, but he was still an outlaw at heart and like hell would he have anything happen to them while riding. He would shoot if he had too no matter what. While Arthur, one hand holding the reins and the other down by his side, merely let it be as if he was completely oblivious to the others judgement.  

 

“So…” John finally spoke up. “Where about are we?”

 

“Scarlett Meadows, just about.”

 

“You seem to know your way well; you travel a lot?” John couldn’t help but enquire. He hadn’t seen Arthur look at the map even once seen they had set out. And the fact it had been in the dark and Arthur still knew which way he was going – it was impressive.

 

The rancher turned his head slightly to look back at John, a smile in his tired eyes as the bandana crinkled a little as he began to speak. “I used to travel all the time when I was younger – with Hosea. How do you think we found a knuckle head like Sean?”

 

“And how did you find that Irish terrier?” John scoffed.

 

Now Arthur did laugh. “Punky little scruff ball was tied upside down to a tree. Hosea pitied the fool and got me to cut him down, hell, I wanted to just leave him there,” he paused before mumbling a quick “wish I had.”

 

John nodded. Sean certainly had an…annoying tendency about him, that was for sure. “You should have, would’ve saved me a headache or two.”

 

 “Sean…he’s a good kid, just like an actual little brother to me, just like Lenny is. Though, don’t tell them I said that. Might think I’ve gone soft over the years.”

 

“What’s the story with Lenny then?”

 

Arthur turned away from John. “It seems to me, Mr Marston, that you know a lot more about us rancher's then we do you…”

 

Shrugging, the outlaw loosely placed a hand against Arthur’s hip, pleased that he never tensed like he had been so ridged before. “Well, that’s because you’ve never asked. Why, what do you want to know?”

 

Once again Arthur began to fidget against John as he pondered for a moment or two. “Umm, hell, I don’t know, just somethin’.”

 

John couldn’t help but chuckle at the dark blondes attempt at conversation. It was kinda cute that he was trying to find out things about the outlaw instead of it being the other way around all the time. “My mother was a working woman, my Pa was a no good drunk, and now all I’m trying to do is provide for my family as honestly as I can.”

 

John figured he would leave the whole; Oh yeah, and I’m an outlaw who’s wanted in god knows how many states dead or alive and I ride in the infamous Van Der Linde gang and commit crimes that you wouldn’t believe. He decided that it would be best if he didn’t mention that whole can of worms.

 

“Family, huh?”

 

“I got a woman and child…though I’m not too sure the boy’s mine.” Abbigail was, at one point, a working woman herself. And there was no true way of knowing if Jack was in fact John’s, but after everything they had been through, he wasn’t father material even in the slightest, but he was willing to try. “How about you? You got a family, Mr Morgan?”

 

Silence.

 

“…I got Hosea and my brothers, and plenty of good people I’ve known through the years that I class as my family, so I guess I have.”

 

There was more to it. John could tell. Yet with them being so open and…well, close, he didn’t feel the undying need to push for answers.

 

Arthur’s grip on the reins began to go slack, he slowly started to lean more into John – relaxing almost, and his breathing began to get heavy. Reaching out, John took hold of the reins and the rancher jerked slightly against him, but the outlaw merely hushed him. “You gotta trust me, Arthur...” John didn’t think the other man had a choice as sleep began to take it holds and he could no longer fight it off – his only protest was mumbled words which quickly faded. Buell’s ears twitched, reaching down, he patted the animal’s neck. “Don’t worry boy, I got him.”

 

(())

 

“I’m gonna kill that fool!”

 

To say the Matthew ranch wasn’t a pleasant place to be now would be an understatement.

 

“No ones killing no body, Sadie.” Hosea huffed as he watched the widow pace back and forth along the ranch grounds. “You need to-”

 

“Don’t you dare tell me I need to calm down, Hosea! Arthur’s gonna die out there with a complete stranger and we can’t do nothing!”

 

“…Sadie…”

 

“And that Irish bastard helping Morgan leave in the night – what was he thinking?!”

 

“Sadie…”

 

“I swear if Morgan thinks for one minute that I’m not gonna kick his backside for doing this then he’s got another thing coming!”

 

“Sadie.”

 

“And just who the hell is John Marston?!”

 

“SADIE!”

 

“What?!”

 

Hosea wiped a hand down his face and shook his head. “None of us are happy about this situation, but Arthur…we have to trust that John will look after him if things get too bad. Think positively, alright?”

 

Sadie stopped anymore words from exiting her mouth as she watched the elder slowly. He slid down a wall and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry Hosea…” She had no children, not like Hosea did, all she knew was that losing her husband was the hardest thing her life. Again Sadie hadn’t stopped to consider what it was like to be losing a son to something you had no control over – or could get revenge for.

 

Hosea held up a hand, but before he could speak, he began to cough heavily. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket he placed it against his mouth.

 

Sadie crouched down next to the owner of the ranch, a sad smile on her face. “Damn, Hosea, you sound like Arthur.” It was meant to lighten the mood, but the look Hosea gave her as he stole the handkerchief from his mouth made any amusement die.

 

“You don’t know the half of it.” He held out the once pure white fabric in his hand – and there lay tiny droplets of crimson scattered upon it.

 

Sadie’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, Hosea…How long has this been happening?”

 

Hosea shrugged. “It’s always been dormant…but Arthur wasn’t the only one who used that Medicine.”

 

“I’ll go after them, Hosea, I’ll find them – three of us against the O’Driscoll’s and Cornwall…that’s a piece of cake!”

 

Hosea and Sadie locked eyes – both knowing it was practically a suicide run. “Listen, Sadie. Arthur doesn't know I'm ill, nor do I want him to because he would just blame himself...I’m too old, and far too tired to keep this up for much longer – but I need to tell you something…”

 

(())

 

Arthur woke up to the sound of choking, and it took him longer than what he would have liked to realise it was his own. Warm hands embraced his flesh, lifting him when he had no strength left to raise himself from wherever he was, a cup of water pressed against his lips and he eagerly took a few sips before spluttering some back out. Glancing around, the rancher realised he was in some sort of bedroom, like a hotel. He squinted at the glow of a light, the nights air and festivities coming from the partly opened window did nothing for his aching lungs and head. “Whe-where are we?”

 

John, who had by this time placed the cup of water down, sat on a chair next to the bed. “A place called Rhodes. I may or may not have accidently got us lost.” He scratched the back of his head and grinned sheepishly. “The whole place looks the damn same in the dark.”

 

Arthur slowly nodded, leaning against the head of the bed. “Rhodes is fine. We’re still on track.”

 

“Well, no need to thank me,” John paused as if waiting for an actual thank you, but none came. “It was mainly Buell, anyhow. The horse got fed up of me taking us in circles.”

 

“Hm.” Arthur gazed to John’s hands, where he held the map, his satchel bag open on the floor. Instantly, the blonde reached for where his journal should be, by his side, but of course it was no longer there.

 

The outlaw noticed his quick movements and picked up the bag and passed it to him. “Don’t worry, I only wanted to look at the map is all.”

 

“That better be all you looked at, Mr Marston.”

 

John rolled his eyes before passing Arthur the map. “Don’t make much sense to me.” He took off his hat and placed it down. “I paid the owner an extra couple of dollars to keep his mouth shut about boarding us here. ‘ _Two men together’_ ,” John mocked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “’ _That’s outrageous, blah-ha-eh._ ’ I soon got him to shut up when the money was involved.”

 

“It’d probably be less outrageous if we weren’t sharing the same horse.”

 

John huffed. “You’re the one who said I would've been too slow on Old Boy. You had a better idea?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur leaned forwards. “That I didn’t have anyone else come with me. That was the plan.”

 

“Plans change, Mr Morgan.” John had to stop himself from saying ‘Just ask Dutch Van Der Linde.’ “Besides, you’re barely fit enough to ride a horse, let alone take on the burden of helping others by yourself. No offence.”

 

“Little taken.”                 

 

“I’m gonna go take a bath, you rest up for tonight, we’ll get some supplies in the morning and then head out again.” John made to leave but paused by the door. “Oh, and Mr Morgan – please don’t think about leaving without me. I made a promise to see you safe and I plan to keep it.” And with that, he was gone.

 

Arthur, opening his journal, began to sketch a drawing of a man’s face. The features would otherwise be blank, had it not been for detailed marks of vigorous scars along the side, and tattered hair that fell down his neck. Writing a few words of his thoughts upon the paper, he closed the book and put it back in his bag, once again safely tucked away from prying eyes. Many an occasion where Sean had tried to rob the book flashed through Arthur’s mind, even the times where he had roped poor Lenny into aiding him and they still failed.

 

Taking his time, Arthur raised himself up from the bed on shaky legs, walking – if not a more correct term would be hobbling – he caught himself on the frame of the bed. Facing a mirror, he all but sneered at himself. His trusty bandana was down, exposing his face fully, no doubt John’s doing. “Arthur…you god damn ugly bastard.” Raising the black fabric back up to cover himself, he tried to ignore the bones of his face being more prominent than ever before, the way his vision was becoming blurred more and more, or the fact that his own clothes were too big on him – and the days of being able to survive by himself were vastly dwindling.

 

Making sure he had everything gathered for himself, Arthur made his move. He ventured out of the room and down the stairs – annoyed at himself at how much time it took just to get to the ground floor. As he edged his way to the doors, not paying any mind to peoples looks or gazes or whispers of how terrible he appeared – he only stopped when a man called from behind the counter.

 

“Sir, you were with that other fellow, weren’t you? He asked me not to let you leave without him.”

 

Throwing him a couple of bucks in hopes to keep him quiet and not alert John, Arthur sighed. “Tell the man who brought me in here; plans change.”

 

(())

 

_What the hell am I doing…_ John thought to himself as he stared idly off to the side. His shoulders against a bronze tinted tub, he let the warm water work its magic on his muscles as he began to relax, sipping at the Whisky that had been left on the edge of the tub by the maid who had offered her services no long ago. _I’m a god damn outlaw, and here I am helping someone who doesn’t even want me around. Damn it, Marston, you fool. Why are you doing this?_

The mental pictures of Arthur joining him, like how the maid had offered, made John go completely warm, inside and out – and his imagination took hold of that thought and tormented him with it until he could no longer concentrate due to the sudden blood rush downwards.

 

“Damn it!” John cursed himself upon realising his hand had dipped under the water. He hadn’t thought about anyone else other than Abigail in years, she had always been his and he had always been hers, but now he had a new craving and it was one that he did not understand. Part of him didn’t want to either from fear of what he would discover about himself. It was like battling himself in a quick draw, and the longer he thought about it the more he was losing.

 

A knock at the door brought John back from his wonders. “What?!” He snapped unintendedly at whomever was there.

 

“I have some news for you sir!” Came a call from the other side.

 

Standing, wrapping a towel around his waist, John removed himself from the tub and opened the door. “And that would be?”

 

It was the gentleman from the counter of the hotel. “Your friend, shall we say…” John didn’t like the way the sleazy guy spoke. “He left and told me to tell you plans change, but I will warn you sir, there are some dangerous folks about at this time – and your _friend_ did not look well.”

 

John didn’t give the man an answer and instead slammed the door before pulling on his clothes once more and vanishing from the hotel like he had never been there – mainly due to the fact that there was a horse hitched not far away and he didn’t want to be noticed. If, not that he had understood much, had been right about where the native American’s were heading then that could only mean that Arthur had one way to go.

 

Stealing the horse, John fled in the direction he assumed the rancher had gone and preyed no harm would befall him while they were apart. It wasn’t long before John came across the golden horse with the pricing blue eyes without a rider on a trail no far off. Buell’s head was down, snorting at a figure on the ground, and for a moment John truly believed that if outlaws could have hearts then his had stopped. It wasn’t until the figure, a man, on the ground moved, pointing up at the night sky, did John’s breathing return. It was funny, really, how Arthur was explaining the stars to his horse, humming now and then as Buell nuzzled his hand.

 

Dismounting, John walked over before plopping himself down next to Arthur. “That was real cute what you pulled back in the hotel, Morgan. Real cute.”

 

“I try,” Arthur turned to John, his gaze hazy but focused. “You didn’t have to come after me, Mr Marston.”

 

“I know,” John lent back on his hands and looked up at the stars – not caring that he had just taken a bath and was now getting filthy again. “But here I am…” He paused. Looking between Buell and Arthur. “So, what happened for you to stop running away from me and end up on the ground?”

 

Arthur, stroking along Buell’s head chuckled. “He bucked me off.”

 

John didn’t believe his ears. “He bucked you off?”

 

Arthur nodded as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “He’s never done that before, but he wouldn’t budge, I tried just about everything, but the stubborn bastard wouldn’t move an inch. I suppose he was waiting on you, Mr Marston.”

 

As if on que, Buell looked at John and then snorted before turning to eat some grass.

 

Arthur let out a breath. “Even my own horse is against me.”

 

“I don’t think it’s that, Arthur…” John gazed down at the man out stretched on the dirt track. “I think people care about you more than you know, and so does Buell.”

 

“Then they’re all fools.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

The tone of voice that came from Arthur next was almost broken. “There’s nothing left to care about. I’m as good as dead, and if people don’t see that then they’re fools.”

 

John mused over that statement for a while before standing up and offering a hand to Arthur who took it. “Maybe you’re the fool for not letting people in, Mr Morgan.”

 

They looked at each other, features unreadable. “And one more thing,” John took hold of the black fabric around Arthur’s face and pulled it away. The rancher reached out to take it back, but John had already safely tucked it away into his jacket. “Hosea told me. Everything. You don’t have to keep hiding your face from me.”

 

Arthur’s eyes were like that of a deer’s peering up into the scope of a hunting rifle. The tint of pink creeping up the side of his neck merely added to the moment.

 

“Now come on,” John called the horses over and got up on the dark mare he had stolen from Rhodes. Arthur stood there for a while longer, shock written all over his features. “You coming, Arthur? Or you gonna stand there gawking all night?”

 

John snickered once the pink tint took over his cheeks beautifully. Arthur, now thoroughly embarrassed, climbed on top of Buell – who without any command made his way over to John’s newly acquired ride.

 

“If I’m right, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong,” John scanned the lands around them. Recalling the map which he had tried to get a good sense of from the hotel. “There’s a cave near a stream up ahead – we can rest there for tonight. I’m sure the horses would approve.”

 

Arthur didn’t say much else, but John felt eyes on him as they rode, Buell never letting the rancher trail off or speed up. They reached the cave not long after their encounter and used a lantern to light up the place. It was small. Merely a place to cover them from wind and any other element that decided to come along and make itself known. The outlaw collected some lose twigs and logs and made a fire for them while Arthur placed out a bed roll.

 

“I can stay up on guard, if you want.” John suggested, now himself feeling embarrassed that he hadn’t managed to get any supplies. Including a bedroll for himself to sleep on in the rough – everything had been left on Old Boy back at the ranch. “I don’t mind,” he said through a yawn.

 

Arthur looked between John and the bed roll before sliding in and moving over to the far edge of it, his gaze falling upon the scarred man once again – almost as if he was saying; your move. John gulped down a lump in his throat, quickly looking out to see if anyone was there but the only thing in sight was the two horses gently nuzzling each other. Moving closer, John took off his holster and coat before crawling into the bed roll, placing his coat over them both for once the fire died out. There was, predictably, no space between them what so ever. Much like how it had been on Buell earlier, but it felt different. More personal. As if they were entangling themselves in something neither of them quite understood.

 

John tried to focus on Arthur’s breathing and nothing else. Not how his entire frame was perfectly relaxed against his own, or how his scent was intoxicating to the brain, or how he was reaching out and placing an arm around Arthur’s waist and keeping him close, or how Arthur didn’t flinch or remove John from him nor the bedroll, or how he turned around in John’s arms and leant his head against his chest which held his quickening heart…

 

(())

 

The morning sounds finally disturbed John from his sleep. The noise of birds singing, water running and animals grazing across the land made him open his eyes. “Arthur…?” He patted the bedroll while his vision came into focus. Yet there was no one next to him, no warmth either, only a cold patch where the other body had been. “Crap.” John kicked his way out of the covers in a panic but stopped once he saw Buell and the dark mare still where he had left them. No way would Arthur leave his horse behind, even if it did buck him off.

 

Leaving everything behind, John walked out into the fine greenery that surrounded the cave and ventured down a path which had fresh foot prints in. It led to a small river. Clothes were placed on the bank of it. And John soon found where Arthur had gotten off to this time.

 

There he was. Embraced in the waters. His hair was wet, and droplets trailed down his back which was facing John. The fatigue of the illness had taken its toll on his body, that was clear to see. He was so slender in muscle mass, but the former structure of how he looked before the medicine had been taken away was still there.

 

John’s eyes raked over every inch of exposed flesh, licking his suddenly dry lips eagerly, he wanted to move forwards so badly but the fear of disturbing the sight before him was too strong - he remained still – drinking in the view like it was painting of pure beauty. He had never been into art or believing in things that could truly take his breath away, like love at first sight, but he knew that meeting Arthur Morgan – it made it all pretty damn close to making him believe in all that nonsense that the Reverend babbled on about throughout camp.

 

“If you’re just gonna stand there and watch, make yerself useful and throw me that cloth, would you?”

 

John cursed himself silently as Arthur, a knowing smirk on his face, turned around and greeted him with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

 

“I wasn’t…I mean…I was, but I…” John gave up trying to make an excuse and then promptly gave in – moving down to the bank and grabbing a cloth that had been abandoned by the rancher’s clothes. He threw it to Arthur who caught it with ease.

 

“Sure,” Arthur broke into a tiny laugh at the look on the outlaw’s face. “I won’t be much longer…”

 

John nodded, yet didn’t move a fragment of an inch, it wasn’t until Arthur stopped what he was doing and looked at the outlaw expectedly did he realise he should no longer be staring now that he had been caught and probably head back to the camp to set everything up for their journey.

 

“Right,” John coughed awkwardly. “I’ll just…yeah…”

 

“You do that, Mr Marston.”

 

John made his way back up to the little camp clearing. He would never admit he tripped once or twice on the way back due to stealing looks at Arthur in that oh so welcoming water…

 

(())

 

Arthur watched John’s retreating figure before turning away. A look of anguish taking over his features. John seemed unavoidable. And the rancher hated people getting too close to him, especially now. He didn’t see the point. He had been hurt before when he had let someone in, the last thing he needed was to let his family down again like he had before. Taking in what little breath he could, he sunk into the water below, eyes closed and mind continuously racing with thoughts. It wasn’t long before he found himself breaking the surface and strolling over to the riverbank where he sat down to steady his breathing.

 

He couldn’t let John get close, not that the man would want to be, but it wouldn’t be fair on either of them. Arthur didn’t regret his words from the night prior. He was like a stick of dynamite waiting to explode. He didn’t know when, but he would be taking his last breath soon enough, and he was sure that it would be by himself. That's what he had wanted - what he still wanted. He didn’t want his family to be babying him as he got worse without the medicine. He didn’t want them to see him fall deeper and deeper until he couldn’t get back up again. That had been the plan. Go out fighting. Or at least, away from Hosea, Lenny, Sean and everyone else he cared about.

 

Then John Marston just had to show up and make him feel like a fool without even trying. Arthur wasn’t sure what hurt the most anymore; his lungs or his heart...

 

By the time he got back to the camp, everything had been packed up and there was a small tin of…hell, Arthur wasn’t sure what John had made with what little supplies they had. He peered into the can and instantly put it back down.

 

“Hey. That took me forever to do, you know.”

 

“Sure,” Arthur kicked the can, so all its contents fall out onto the ground. Poorly cooked meat, beans and something green that the rancher didn’t even want to contemplate what it could be sprawled out in a heap. “I see cooking doesn’t come naturally to you, Mr Marston.”

 

“You got me there,” John tightened the saddle on his newly found horse. He nodded in the direction of where another can lay, barely even a bite taken out of it before it had been thrown away. “I think I’ll be going to hell for animal cruelty if anything eats that.”

 

 Arthur chuckled. “Something like that.” Rubbing his jaw, now permanently exposed thanks to John, he frowned. “We shouldn’t be far now. The Native Americans should be no further than Shady Belle, poor bastards.”

 

John turned to him; confusion written over his face. “What makes you say that?”

 

Climbing on top of Buell, the dark blonde answered. “They’ve lost everything. Their people. Their home. Their families. The government are trying to kill them all off – forcing them to parts of America that they’ve never been to before – a new environment when they have nothing left. Not even weapons to defend themselves with. And the army calls them the savages.”

 

“Nasty business.”

 

Arthur nodded. “Let’s just find them. Figure out their situation and then…”

 

“Then what, exactly?” John hopped up onto the mare. “We can try and help them as much as we can, but there’s no way we can take out Cornwall’s men and the O’Driscoll’s.”

 

Humming in thought, Arthur gazed at John somewhat longing until the outlaw caught on and captured his eyes in his own, forcing the other to snap his orbs away. “I’m sure I’ll think of something - one things for sure; you’re all gonna get out of this mess alive even if it’s the last thing _I_ do.”

 

(())

 

Something didn’t feel right. John couldn’t settle. Not one bit. His eyes were scanning the land they were moving down and there was…nothing… Something really didn’t feel right. They had passed many people before and now there was no one on a main trail. The scarred male turned to Arthur, an uneasiness in his companions’ orbs did nothing to calm his building nerves.

 

“You sure we’re on the right track, Arthur?”

 

“Positive.”

 

“I don’t know about you,” John put a hand on his holster. “This don’t seem right.”

 

Arthur never got the chance to reply as a beaten-up wagon came down the road, black leather and green bandanas flooded their vision as six or more men jumped down from it, stopping them both in their track.

 

“O’Driscoll’s…” John all but sneered. Glancing behind them, he noted another four on horses with weapons aimed. “God damn ambush.”

 

“This land here belongs to the O’Driscoll’s, lads!” One who was leading the busted wagon climbed down, approaching both Arthur and John. Buell and the mare started to spook at the sudden amount of people around them but couldn’t back up an inch – they were boxed in. “And you gonna have to pay to get across it.”

 

“Don’t you O’Driscoll’s have anything better to do?” John growled.

 

The O’Driscoll turned to John, and the outlaw was thankful that all of their attention was on him and not Arthur, but the look he gave him – it was almost a look of recognition and shock written across the strangers’ face. He jumped back.

 

“It’s a son of Dutch! Shoot to kill boys! We’ll take his head to Colm!”

 

_Crap, crap, crap!_ The mare bucked, a bullet grazing her shoulder as she sent John to the ground and fled for her life, to which he could not blame her one bit. Scrambling to a large tree, John tried to find where Arthur had gone when he couldn’t spot him but with the mass of gunfire all aiming at him, he couldn’t get a good enough look.

 

John could no longer tell how many there were or how many he shot at as he kept firing whenever he got the chance. Accuracy might have been low, but with the rapids of bullets whirling passed his head he would let it go, his main concern was finding out where the hell his dark blonde had gone. Once he had taken out the few who had him pinned down, he moved to a boulder, barely escaping a cap to the head.

 

Taking out at least another two, John ducked behind the rock and wait for another round of gunfire to try and claim his life, but none came. Peering over the massive stone, he noted that all the O’Driscoll’s were down, he didn’t do all that. “…You alive Arthur?”

 

“Just about...”

 

Standing up, John spied Arthur now walking into the clearing where he joined him, pistols smoking. “You’re a good shot, Morgan.”

 

“You ain’t too bad yourself,” Arthur holstered his weapons and looked around at the bodies that lay before them. “They sure seemed to know you, Mr Marston.”

 

John visibly stiffened at the rancher’s words. “I guess I just have one of those faces…” He didn’t want to tell Arthur. He couldn’t. The words wouldn’t leave his mouth even if he wanted them too. Which he didn’t. What would he think of him if he knew the truth about who he was? Yet, the look of distrust shot throughout Arthur’s eyes and John would have given anything to make it go away.

 

That’s when he spotted it. Or to be more exact, the leader of the bundle of O’Driscoll’s who had cut them up. He was on the ground, wounds piercing his chest and stomach, but that didn’t stop him from raising his gun and aiming it straight at Arthur’s back. Reacting as quickly as he could, John pulled Arthur to him and twisted them around just as a shot echoed around.

 

There wasn’t any pain, not at first, just a burning sensation before the realisation of being shot finally took hold of him. It wasn’t the first time that he had been shot, life of an outlaw came with a high chance of being killed by a bullet or a rope around the neck, to which he had dealt with both of them on many different occasions, but this time was different.

 

John didn’t even realise he had hit the ground until he saw Arthur above him, wide eyes, and worry taking hold of him.

 

“You fool, Marston!” Arthur shouted. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

 

“Y-you, Arthur, I was…thinkin’ of you…” was the last thing John heard himself say before he finally succumbed to the pain that felt like fire spreading through his system…

 

(())

 

It was the smell of smoke that made John start to stir. It was like being back at camp with the Van Der Linde gang. He wondered briefly if the whole thing had been but a dream. Or nightmare considering he had been shot. Then said wound decided to sting like a bitch when he touched it just to make sure it was still there. At least he knew he was alive.

 

“Try not to move too much, dear boy.”

 

John instantly stopped his fidgeting at the sound of a stranger’s voice. The accent was posh, that was for sure. Too posh for an American. Opening his eyes, he saw a dark-haired male, facial hair and just about everything else was not a thread out of place.

 

“Who the hell are you?” John asked, voice hoarse.

 

“My name is Josiah Trelawny. Former Doctor of Valentine but the whole thing got awfully dull when the O’Driscoll’s came into town, mind you -” The man, Josiah, stopped himself from his ramblings. “I’m sure you don’t wish to listen to me go on, Mr Marston. I merely wish to assure you that you’ll be well looked after here.”

 

“And where is here, exactly?” John sat up, ignoring the talkative man’s protests of him moving.

 

“This is Shady Belle, and you’re safe here in the native American camp…” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “As you can no doubt tell, not many of us here are used to this…land. The Government are doing their very best to kill off us all.”  

 

_Shady Belle…We made it._

 

“Arthur.” John shot up, ignoring the pain as he rushed to a tent flap and opened it up, storming outside – he looked around. There was a lot of people. They were all crammed into the tiny space that they had to call home. Some lay wounded, others dying, and the pure misery of being stuck in a place that was unknown to them was taking its tol.

 

“God damn…” John mumbled as he was joined by Josiah.

 

“Ah, yes. The Government aren’t too happy about the native Americans at all. And thus they have sent us packing many a time, but now the medical supplies are gone and this part of the land isn’t helping anything.”

 

“Where’s Arthur?”

 

“I see you have a one tracked mind, good fellow.” Josiah gestured for John to follow him throughout the camp as he led him further in. “Arthur is with the Chief, Rains Fall, as we speak.”

 

John looked over a small camp fire, and there they were. Arthur was sitting on an old wooden create while he spoke with Rains Fall, coughing now and then through their conversation, as they approached.

 

“All my people want is the Wapiti Reservation back, Mr Morgan. The Bayou is no place for us. We cannot hunt, we cannot co-exist with those who live here as they are brutal to my people…”

 

“I know, Chief Rains Fall, I know…” Arthur had his hand against his belt as he finally caught sight of John – a looked washed over his features, but the outlaw couldn’t quite make it out. “Mr Marston…”

 

John tilted his head in greeting to Arthur. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

 

“Rains Fall, this is John Marston, he works at the Matthew ranch with me and the others.” Arthur introduced them and John shook hands with the chief.

 

“I wish we could have met in better circumstances, Mr Marston, but Mr Morgan tells me great things about you.” Rains supplied.

 

“Does he now?” John raised an eyebrow at Arthur who flushed. “All I can say is thank you for helping me.” He pressed against the wound again. Yep. Still painful.

 

Rains nodded sadly. “Unfortunately, you have come at a grave time. All of our supplies have been stolen.”

 

Josiah coughed to gain their attention. “And Arthur informed me of the medicine shipment going missing in the Heartlands. We know exactly whose behind it all.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Cornwall,” Arthur turned to John as he explained. “He and the O’Driscoll’s are stealing all of the Indians supplies and medicine. They’re trying to kill them off and not a damn thing can be done about it cuz Cornwall owns half the nation.”

 

John pondered in thought for a moment. “Trelawny, isn’t there anyway you could make more medicine?” _Arthur needs it, and I ain’t leaving without it._

 

“Not without the supplies, dear boy.”

 

The look on their faces were of pure defeat. John hated it. He couldn’t help but look at Arthur. He no doubt looked worse than John. There was no way he was giving up. Not now. “Well then. I know what we’ll do.”

 

This time it was Arthur’s turn to raise a fine brow at the outlaw. “And what would you suggest, Mr Marston? They’ve got a whole army.”

 

“They’re stealing the supplies, right?” John in turn got a mumbled response and a few nods. “Then we’re gonna steal them back.”

 

(())

 

“You made it sound real simple back there,” Arthur said as they walked away from the others. “Don’t you think you’re putting too much hope into this?”

 

John shrugged. “I meant what I said, Arthur. I’ll get you that medicine, and we’ll take down a few of those O’Driscoll bastards. Hell, while we’re at it we can shoot that Micah.”

 

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “You know as much as I do that it ain’t that simple, Marston.”

 

They reached a small tent, one that had been put up for them, and entered. Both men fell down onto the rolls laid out for them. They lay down, facing each other as John spoke. “Have I stirred you wrong yet Arthur?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Making me have a shoot out with a bunch of O’Driscoll’s. Having to carry your ass cuz the Horses got spooked by said fight. And now giving hope where there really ain’t none…” Arthur, who was on his back, never let his eyes stray from John’s.

 

“Okay, you got me there.” The outlaw couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. “Uh…I have a plan.”

 

Dutch would be proud.

 

“Trust me, okay?” John scooted closer to Arthur.

 

Arthur chuckled a little. “Hell, I’m dead either way, what could possibly go wrong?”

 

“Thanks, Arthur.” John's voice was layered with sarcasm. “Still no trust, huh?”

 

Arthur turned serious. All amount of amusement vanished like it hadn’t been there. “You…Uhm…I guess what I mean is...I…Thank you, John. Though I still think you’re a fool for doing it, you saved my life.”

 

John reached out, trying to make sure he wasn't reading the situation wrong, he trailed a hand up Arthur’s neck slowly until it rested against his cheek. “I would do it again too. I made a promise, Arthur.”

 

“…I trust you, John…”

 

Softly tracing a thumb along Arthur’s lower lip, John leaned in and captured them with his own, he was half expecting a punch to the face or a kick to the groin but what came next was even better; Arthur kissed him back…


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support with this story. I tend to hate the things I start to write so it's nice to know others are enjoying it. 
> 
> Also, you might notice I always go on about Arthur's weight, and there for lack of, because in the game I very often forget to feed him. And thus before he even meets the Downes he is extremely light and underweight ^^' I look after the horse more than poor Arthur... I'm a terrible person. 
> 
> Again. I suck at updates and writing in general, and of course all mistakes are mine and I'm so proud of them! They grow up so quick xxx

“You’re a fool, Marston…” Arthur breathed as they parted, foreheads touching as the elements of Shady Belle already made them deal with a slight sweat between themselves. “You got a woman and a child…”

 

John wanted to tell Arthur so many things within that one moment, but nothing would come out, instead all he could do was allow his fingers to slide into the dark blonde locks of his companion. Pulling him into another brief kiss. “Abigail…She ain’t been my woman in a very long time. And the boy barely knows me.”

 

Arthur placed his hand against John’s chest. “All the more reason for you to stay with them and not be here with me.”

 

Closing his eyes, John slowly shook his head and pulled away from Arthur, only a fraction – just so their orbs could once again be entranced with one another. “You keep calling me a fool, Arthur; then let me be one.”

 

Removing his hand, John delicately took Arthur’s into his own and kissed his rough knuckles lightly. “I’m not going to lie, Arthur. I don’t know the first thing about being with another man. For a long time, I thought I was only attracted to women, but then I met you – and you changed me, or found me, hell I can’t explain it, but I don’t think I want to go back to how I was…”

 

Or where he was. In this very moment, John felt more content then he had ever been. Having Arthur so close, in such a way with each other, it was different. It was right. And something deep down allowed him to forget about Dutch and the camp. Something that made his chest hurt at the thought of this man leaving his side. Something told him that if he walked this path with Arthur then he wouldn’t be able to walk back, and for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a reason why he would want to look back let alone stroll back to the Van Der Linde Gang.

 

“You really are a fool, John Marston.” The sad expression across Arthur’s features made the outlaw hurt more than he thought possible. It was almost as if he was afraid. And John found himself wondering what this beautiful man must be thinking. How he must be feeling. “But I can’t seem to escape you.”

 

As if to add to the point that Arthur had made, John moved in closer, pulling him until they were inches apart. “You don’t have to escape me, if you don’t want to Arthur.” John’s hold was loose, and they both knew it, giving either of them plenty of chance to leave and pretend the whole thing never happened.

 

Yet Arthur didn’t move. “I guess you’re right, I’m a fool too.” Having a surge of confidence, Arthur took the lead and rolled John onto his back, straddling his waist partly. His hands held him up, shaking a little at the strain, while he gazed down at the dark-haired male beneath him – his hair falling around his features. “You sure about this?”

 

_As if you need to ask_ , John thought as he raised his hands and placed them on Arthur’s hips. The scarred male couldn’t help but feel right. Almost perfect. It amazed him and scared him to no end at how one person could affect him so much. Yet for the moment, nothing else mattered. It was just him and Arthur, and he was determined to enjoy it. And that shy look in Arthur’s eyes told him he wasn’t the only one who wanted, no, needed this.

 

“Let’s be fools together then…”

 

It felt like he was jumping off a cliff.

 

And John had no control of his actions anymore as he raised himself up, ignoring his injuries, and clasping his mouth around Arthur’s passionately. Nipping at his lower lip, he heard a tiny gasp and was allowed what he wanted when his tongue was able to slip pass the ranchers parted lips.

 

Hell, if jumping off a cliff felt this good – then he wished he would have done it sooner. Gravity be damned. He no longer feared the fall or the water beneath as he leaped off the cliff.

 

Their movements were slow, but meaningful, as they twisted into each other and before either knew it John had Arthur in his lap – his arms tucked around the dark blonde to keep him close in their embrace of one another. It wasn’t long before John moved his head away, Arthur’s cheeks were a flourished pink as his mouth lay open while he panted to capture air into his lungs, a slither of a thread of saliva keeping them connected.

 

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, Arthur.”

 

Arthur placed his head in the crook of John’s neck, muttering something about the outlaw not being too bad himself. And John would be damned if he didn’t find it absolutely adorable. Noting that Arthur’s shirt, which would usually be safely tucked into his work pants, was ruffled at the back – John took the opportunity to sneak his hand up and feel the warmth of the others flesh.

 

Arthur’s hitched breath against John’s neck sent a shiver throughout him even as he felt the rancher’s spine and ribs protruding from his core – a cruel reminder of reality – too add to it the dark blonde went ridged against his touch and John wanted to curse loudly at himself.

 

“It’s okay, Arthur,” he salvaged. “We can take things slow.”

 

It took a while, but finally Arthur began to relax once more into John’s touch, taking things with more caution – he lay them back down on the bedrolls. John didn’t feel the need to make another move, in fact, he felt good that it hadn’t just been him who felt this strongly. And knowing that Arthur wanted the same as him, it made the whole thing worth it, and he was willing to abide by what he had said. He wouldn’t rush him into anything that he wasn’t prepared for...

 

Arthur lent his head against John’s. “Thank you.” He moved down, eyes feeling heavy as he pressed his ear against John’s heart. The outlaw’s fingers gently brushing through his strands of hair was the only thing Arthur could concentrate on to try and keep himself awake. He didn’t want to close his eyes. He didn’t want to sleep. If anything, all he wanted was to give himself up, but his body wasn’t what it used to be – and though he trusted John, he didn’t trust himself – he was too self-conscious to let the other see him. Not like this.

 

When he had been in the water, it was a completely different story, John was merely looking. He didn’t have to touch him. See how sickly his body had gotten, or how much weight he had lost, and his thoughts weren’t helping. Arthur didn’t understand why someone like John would look at him, let alone wish to bed with him, he just couldn’t figure him out. And that was the most frustrating thing the rancher had dealt with in a very long time.  

 

John Marston was a mystery. One he wanted to solve, if not for his own sanity. As Arthur lay there, listening to his heart beat, he wondered if someone could actually care about him like John seemed to – and a shy bubble of hope that it was true crept into the back of his mind and he couldn’t shake it. The scary part? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

 

“Arthur, my dear boy!”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” John grumbled into Arthur’s hair and the rancher couldn’t help but smile as John all but growled once the flap of the tent was raised and a gob smacked Josiah stood there. Speechless.

 

Arthur wished he could say that he hated being held like he was someone’s prize pony, but that would have been a lie as John slung his arms around him and all but pulled him back into his lap as he sat up to greet the intruder. Arthur thought he would have been embarrassed like he had been when he was younger the once when something like this had happened with Hosea walking in on him, but with John, he felt too safe to feel even a little bit shy about it.

 

“Can we help you, Josiah?” Arthur asked as if he wasn’t being held tightly while his capturer was snarling like a wolf.

 

“I…Um…Yes…I just…Not sure where to look.” Josiah was red in the face as he stared directly at the two men so close together before finally snapping his eyes away and back out of the tent. “I thought I should inform you that Charles and Eagle Flies have returned from their hunting trip. I would suggest talking to them about Mr Marston’s plan.” Josiah nodded to himself as he finished his sentence before finally fleeing the tent with a muttered goodbye.

 

Arthur didn’t want to move, nor did he wish for John to, but work called and the dark blonde reluctantly rolled off of John’s lap much to the outlaw’s whine of a loss. “I’ll be out in a minute, alright?”

 

John nodded. Standing and stretching out his injured arm. “Fine, but for Josiah’s sake I wouldn’t leave it too long. Guy doesn’t know when to shut up.”

 

Arthur chuckled as he watched John leave. He reached over and pulled out his journal, feeling the need to write compelled him to stay a while longer in the tent. Flipping through the pages, he found a page he had barely written on and began to write.

 

_I’ve been made a fool by people I cared about before. I do not wish for that to happen again. I did not want to let anyone close to me, but the further I tried to push John Marston away the more I found myself falling for his stupid charm. What a fool am I? I do not understand why someone would be interested in me. It has been a long time. Too long. And now it’s too late. I was so ready to go, I knew what was happening, but now with each moment I spend with Mr Marston I can’t help but feel that the tables have turned and so have my thoughts. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to live, and I may have finally found a reason to – I hope that nothing bad will become of this. I would die a lot faster from a broken heart than any damn illness…_

 

Closing his trusted book, Arthur sighed and placed it away before standing with a groan. His lungs felt like fire, but his heart felt worse. He just didn’t understand why anyone would willingly wish to be with him, and he couldn’t help but second guess everything that had happened through the night with John. The self-doubting came back ten full, and Arthur felt himself wanting to hide from the world again, but with what energy he had left, he made his way back outside into the incomparable heat of the Shady Belle territory…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really felt that Arthur had no love for himself throughout the game and I wanted to change that so bad, but who am I, only a mere player of the video game -_-
> 
> Thanks again!


	8. Chapter 8

There was a lot of ways that the plan could go wrong, John mused, suddenly feeling the pressure that Dutch must feel upon making an idea – the most daunting part was trying to make sure it was executed perfectly without any mishaps. And as he peered round a large tree, binoculars in hand, he tried to ignore the thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong and instead focus on the situation at hand.

 

“Okay…” He breathed out lowly. This was the best chance they had.

 

Once they had joined the others around a camp fire, there had been no room for introductions upon one Charles Smith catching sight of Arthur Morgan, straight away he had rushed to his side – much to John’s distaste. Charles face had twisted into worry and concern, knowing full well what had been happening lately without a word needing to be said. It soon became apparent that Charles, and Rain Falls son, Eagle Flies’ hunting trip had also involved them scoping out a small camp of O’Driscoll’s not far from Shady Belle. A small amount of supplies hidden within.

 

There was, of course, a small chance that there was medicine there too, or at least enough supplies to make more – and John was willing to take that chance. And so, here they were.

 

“We need a distraction,” Charles whispered to the five men who were being led by John. “Someone loud enough to make a noise but feeble enough to not be seen as a threat.”

 

John, Charles, Eagle Flies and Arthur’s eyes turned to their fifth tag along.

 

“What?” Josiah squirmed. “Gentlemen, you can’t be serious.”

 

Arthur grinned like a cat. “You always were a good actor, Josiah.”

 

“Arthur!” Josiah scolded in a harsh whisper. “I don’t have a gun, or anything. What if they shoot to kill?” To add to his words, he mimicked the actions of a gun firing.

 

Arthur patted his back. “That’s why you’re perfect. You know, all dramatic like.”

 

Josiah grumbled. “I don’t like this one bit, Arthur.”

 

“Well I can’t go. They see someone looking as deathly as me and they will shoot to kill. They’d know Eagle Flies and Mr Smith straight away.”

 

“So, send him!” Josiah pushed his hands out wildly to point at John who rolled his eyes.

 

“Look, Trelawny, we’re the guns here. If I think anything looks off, we’ll shot them before they even have chance to reach for their guns let alone fire them.” John wanted to plant his face in his palms so hard. Was this how Dutch felt when people kept questioning him about a plan? He turned to face the scared looking man. “Think of your friends. They’re dying and the supplies are in that camp. Can you just sit by when there’s a chance to help them?”

 

_Damn it, think of Arthur!_

Josiah looked between the four men gathered around him and nodded. “Very well, I will do my best to distract them.”

 

“Charles, Eagle Flies, go around the other side – we’ll take them by surprise from both sides once Josiah’s got them hooked.”

 

They left without a complaint, to which John was grateful as he turned to face Arthur, he was leaning against a tree. Hands on his belt buckle. He was shaking slightly, John couldn’t be sure if the man knew he was even doing it, the small tremors tearing through his body without remorse.

 

“Arthur, I want you to stay here.”

 

The command made the rancher look up in disbelief at the outlaw. “I’m going with you, Marston.”

 

John shook his head. “No, you’re not. I need you to stay here and cover us.”

 

“Like hell, John-”

 

“You need to cover us so we can make a clean escape.... Please, Arthur.”

 

Arthur’s gaze was fierce at the poor attempt John made to keep him away from danger, but the outlaw didn’t want another shoot out where he was more concerned about the rancher – he had to get the supplies. And focus primarily on that. Finally, Arthur’s eyes began to faulter from their passionate state and he took his rifle off his back.

 

“Sure,” he crouched, peering down the scope. No longer paying John any mind. The small tremors of cough that followed reminded John of just how important this grand plan was. There could be no mistakes. Not now.

 

Giving one last fleeting look at Arthur, John moved further down towards the camp of O’Driscoll’s and held his position, awaiting the signal. He saw Charles and Eagle Flies not far away. Perfect. Unholstering his guns, he calmed down his nerves. He wished he could say it was from fear of being killed, but that was the last thing on his mind. Right now, it was fear of losing Arthur that fuelled him onwards. He forgot that he himself was injured. Or that he was on a mission. Nothing else mattered.

 

“Gentlemen!” Josiah called into the camp full of O’Driscoll’s. “Oh gentlemen!”

 

John peered out from where he was hiding and frowned. Within the spam of moments Josiah had taken himself from a well-kept man to someone who looked like he had been lost from a trail for weeks. His hair was out of place, clothes dirty and a smear of mud graced his face – at least he looked the part.

 

“What in god names…” An O’Driscoll on guard duty shook his head as if he was seeing things. “What the hell happened to you, stranger?”

 

“I’ve been lost!” Josiah all but cried. “Lost to the wilderness of this cruel place. Thank goodness I found you all!”

 

More O’Driscoll’s became curious at the new comer and moved forwards.

 

“Lost ya say?”

 

“Yes!” Josiah yelled. “I thought I was done for!” He gripped his chest dramatically. “Oh no! The pain! The pain of it all!” He fell to the ground and began to fit.

 

“Where the hell did we find this guy,” John murmured to himself as the act continued on.

 

“It’s dark, it’s so dark!”

 

“That cuz ye closed your eyes, stranger!”

 

John watched Charles and Eagle Flies take out the guards who had stayed at their post. He moved, taking out one who had been staring at the scene before him – his knife digging into his flesh as he drew his last breath.

 

So far everything had been going to plan as they moved through the camp, taking them out silently, or at least it had been until an O’Driscoll came out of a tent and yelled at the sight of Eagle Flies – who shot first. Killing him instantly.

 

John watched as the four men who had gathered around Josiah turned around in shock – being taken out by rifle fire from Arthur buried away in the treeline. The doctor scrambled away quickly as shots rang out from every direction.

 

Taking cover behind a create, John shot as many as he could, Charles and Eagle Flies finding there way to his side as they started to fire back.

 

“How many are there?” Eagle Flies snapped as he wounded one or two.

 

“We may have underestimated them.” Charlies growled as he barely had enough time to duck as a bullet skimmed his arm. “This doesn’t look good.”

 

“You think?” John opened fire and took another one out before falling back underneath cover.

 

It was an explosion of some sort that caught all their attentions at the front of the camp and gave them the upper hand as they were able to push forward and take out more O’Driscoll’s until there was none left.

 

“Well,” John stood up and dusted off his coat. “That could’ve gone worse.”

 

“Could’ve gone better,” Eagle Flies glared, and John fought down the urge to whack him with the back of his gun.

 

“Hey, I’m not the one who got caught.”

 

“Enough!” Charles’ voice boomed. Stopping both men in their tracks as they turned to him, watching him lift a lid of a create – revealing supplies. “You’re both simple minded fools, but we have what we came for.”

 

“Jolly good!” Josiah called out from behind them. He was cleaning himself up of the mud. “I take it my little explosion helped.” He smiled widely and John nodded his head.

 

“Didn’t know you could be so useful, Trelawny.”

 

“Well there you have it,” he peered into the supply box, his smile remained. “That’ll do just fine.” He closed the create. “See Mr Marston, things can only start to look up~” As the man began to speak, he turned around to face John, but his smile soon faded as he peered behind him. “I may have spoken a little too soon.”

 

Brow knitting into a frown, John turned around and soon found what Josiah was talking about. There were five O’Driscoll’s, and caught in the middle of them was Arthur, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, a new black eye forming and with the way he was limping possibly a broken rib or worse. He looked like he was ready to drop at any given moment. Rough hands tightly held onto him while a gun was pointed at his head.

 

John hadn’t realised that he had launched forwards until he was pulled back by Charles.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Mr Smith had scolded. “They’ll kill Arthur before you get near them.”

 

“I’d listen to your friend there, mister.” The O’Driscoll holding Arthur laughed. “Now drop your weapons.”

 

A moment passed, and the O’Driscoll began to squeeze slowly on the gun to Arthur’s head and John threw his weapons down. It didn’t take long for Charles and Eagle Flies to follow suit.

 

The other O’Driscoll’s came and kicked them out of the way before roughly grabbing those following John.

 

“Ya see boys, when you’re gonna do something, you should always make sure that the little lamb,” he patted Arthur’s cheek roughly. “Doesn’t stray from the herd…who knows what predators are lurking out there.”

 

“Little lamb?” Arthur croaked out as if he was truly offended at being called such a thing. Suddenly, Arthur head butted the one holding him – sending them both sprawling to the ground.

 

The O’Driscoll’s and John’s small gang looked at each other for a brief moment.

 

“How the hell has he still got life in him?” One asked – and in return was met with a knife to the side of the neck from Eagle Flies.

 

John paid no mind to anything else around him as he spotted Arthur and the O’Driscoll struggling with a knife – the poorly rancher on the losing end of things until the outlaw put his own knife into the stranger who then began a dead weight and fell on top of Arthur.

 

Heaving the hefty load off, John gazed worrying down at Arthur. His breathing had become painful rasps – he was fighting for air.

 

“You gotta keep pushing, you hear me.” John demanded as he lifted Arthur up. The man could no longer stand and threatened to fall had the outlaw not slung his arms around him to catch him. John thought he had looked bad before, but now, he had never seen anyone look as if they were moments from death. And it scared him. It scared him at how much it hurt to watch Arthur suffer like he was. He bit his lip, blaming himself for leaving the rancher. Curse him for thinking that leaving the man to cover them would be a good idea.

 

“There’s…” Arthur could barely speak, blood and saliva merging as one as he panted harshly. “More…coming…”

 

“We need to move,” Charles ordered as he and Eagle Flies grabbed the creates. “Quickly.”

 

There was sounds of horses storming up the way – Arthur hadn’t been wrong.

 

“I suggest we split up,” Josiah began. “Lose them and then head back to camp where I can make the medicine.”

 

Charles looked between Arthur and the boxes. “No time. Marston, you get Arthur and Josiah safely back to camp. Eagle Flies, ride with them.”

 

“What are you going to do?” John asked as he watched Charles put the create on top of the one Eagle Flies already had.

 

He pulled out his rifle, grabbing a nearby horse. “I’ll lead them in the other direction – just get Arthur outta here.”

 

“Ch-Charles…” Arthur’s almost silent pleas were met with a sympathetic look from the man in question.

 

“I’ll be fine Arthur. You rest up.” Charles turned to John. “You get him out of here safely, you understand me?”

 

“You know I will,” John picked Arthur up, knowing full well the rancher could no longer walk. “We’ll see you back at camp.”

 

Charles nodded before riding off and coursing a scene to lead the others away. There was a lot of gunfire.  

 

Arthur, now over John’s shoulders, watched as the roar of a battle commenced – and he could do nothing as  everything began to fade. The lights around began to disappear from his sight. He felt cold. The only thing he could concentrate on was the warmth of John carrying him as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

 

“Keep pushing, Arthur!”

 

Arthur tried. He really did.

 

He could feel the wind against his skin. The rancher knew that he was on a horse, the heat against his back must have been John’s – from the corner of his eye he spied Eagle Flies and Josiah riding alongside them as they fled from the camp of thieves.

 

Yet, each breath caused a burning fire within him, and it hurt. It hurt so much. John’s voice was the last thing he heard, pleading with him to keep fighting, to keep pushing, but he couldn’t. Reaching out, hand shaking, eyes watering and blood trickling down his face, he took hold of John’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. Almost as if it was one final goodbye. He could push on no longer.

 

And finally, his hand slipped from John…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support of this fanfic! 
> 
> Well, once you hit rock bottom there's only one way to go and that's up. ;)


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